


stole my mind and found my dreams

by millipop



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Denial of Feelings, Dorks in Love, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fighting Kink, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Graceling - Freeform, Graceling fusion, I don't know how to tag this at all, Mutual Pining, Protectiveness, Sharing a Bed, a story about clarke realising she's amazing, but shit gets complicated, no need to have read the book, there will be villains to defeat but they work together and it's great, they're dorks and enchanted with each other from the start, until..., when these dorks get over themselves then they will realise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-09-06 19:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 104,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millipop/pseuds/millipop
Summary: Princess Clarke is known as Wanheda - an assassin Graced with the skill of killing. But it's not until she meets Bellamy Blake that she starts believing she's capable of being so much more than the King's thug. Bellamy has a Grace of his own, and in him she meets her match - physically and emotionally.But Clarke's haunted by a violent past, and Bellamy has secrets of his own. When his family is threatened, Clarke and Bellamy discover the kingdom of Polaris is not all that it seems, and they must work together to uncover the truth behind Queen Alie's City of Light - and perhaps fall in love along the way.





	1. open the doors and set me free

**Author's Note:**

> and I oop. So I've been wanting to write this for a long time, and I've finally finished the first part. Thank you to ro who egged me on with this and listened to my rambling and read through this first chapter for me. Sorry it's so long but I wanted to give the pacing and story justice. It's part one of three and rest is incoming, i promise x  
Main and chapter titles from the song heartstrings by oh wonder.

_Clarke hadn’t noticed it happening, at first. None of them had. She had gaps in her memory, sure, but she’s always been a bit forgetful. And although her eyes had settled into blue and silver more than a year ago, she hasn’t found her Grace._

_Not like her cousin had. Josephine was a mindreader – she knew things about people they’d never divulged to her and used it to her advantage. Even as a fifteen-year-old, Clarke had learned to be wary of Josephine. You never knew when she was being nice and when she was manipulating you. The childhood bullying and taunting had turned sickly sweet over the years, but Clarke wasn’t fooled. She may not begrudge Gracelings – she was one herself now – but Josephine used her Grace for purposes beyond what Clarke could even fathom._

_‘Clarke!’ She looks up from her book. She’s in the library, and Gabriel, the young Lord staying at their castle has entered. She doesn’t know him very well, but she sometimes sits next to him at dinner. He has intense, warm brown eyes, and although not many people meet her gaze anymore, he does. He’s nice._

_‘Oh, hello Lord Santiago.’_

_Gabriel scoffs, looking at her with an incredulous stare. ‘Oh come on, Clarke. We’re past formalities, aren’t we?’ He gives her a shy teasing smile, sitting down across from her._

_Clarke has no idea what he means. Lord Santiago may be kind, but she’s actually taken pains to avoid the lord, since he arrived. Josephine, upon locking eyes on him, had whispered to Clarke that he was hers. It wasn’t like Clarke was going to argue. He was handsome enough, sure, but she didn’t care. She was promised to Queen Lexa of Trigeda, after all. And if Josephine was going to stake a claim on him, she was only too happy to stay out of the way._

_‘Sorry?’ Clarke gives him a confused look._

_Gabriel frowns. He leans across the table, reaching a hand out to stroke a lock of hair out of her eye. ‘I thought we had a good time the other night.’_

_Clarke wrenches herself back at his touch. He must be drunk or confused. But he’s looking at her with such care, such affection. It frightens her. She’d thought he’d seemed normal._

_‘I really don’t know what you mean, Lord Santiago.’_

_His face falls even further. He doesn’t look angry, just sad, and confused. ‘But…’_

_‘Cousin!’ A voice rings out from across the library. Josephine is striding towards them, a sunshine smile on her face. But when she locks eyes with Clarke, daggers in her cousin’s eyes pierce her. _

_‘Oh, hello Princess Josephine,’ Gabriel greets her pleasantly. There’s no care in his voice though, and Clarke knows her cousin well. She sees that it makes her furious. ‘Lady Clarke and I were just…’_

_‘My father needs you in his study.’ Josephine directs the sharp words at Clarke._

_Clarke knows it’s untrue. Russell didn’t care one ounce about her, barely said anything to her. Especially since her eyes had settled. One Graceling daughter was enough of a shame, he didn’t like to acknowledge his niece at all now. _

_She’s confused at the information, but she stands carefully anyway. ‘Okay,’ she says. She tries to convey through her eyes, through her _thoughts, _that she’d had no intention of gaining Gabriel’s affection. Clarke doesn’t actually know how Josephine’s Grace works, but she hopes her cousin gets her message._

_Josephine doesn’t blink though. Her angry glare follows Clarke as she walks out of the library, only relieved from it when she’s closed the door behind her._

_Well, that was weird._

_It gets even weirder at dinner, though. Gabriel manages to sit next to Clarke again, much to her chagrin. He doesn’t seem to understand that in deluding himself, he’s putting Clarke in Josephine’s line of fire. _

_Clarke can feel the heated gaze of her cousin from down the table. She tries not to engage in conversation with him, tries to feign a headache and concentrate on her food, but Gabriel is not to be persuaded. He seems convinced that Clarke knows him much better than she does._

_‘Why don’t we take a walk in the gardens tonight, again? I loved hearing your stories about Arcadia.’_

_She shakes her head, bewildered. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never been to Arcadia.’_

_Gabriel persists. ‘But you told me about…’_

_Clarke can’t take it. She whispers forcefully under her breath, willing herself to be quiet enough so the whole table doesn’t hear. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, but I’ve never spoken to you anywhere but dinner. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’_

_He looks aghast. He replies in a normal volume, his tone sad and reproachful. ‘But Clarke. That kiss we shared…’_

_She almost swallows her tongue. Kiss? She’s never kissed anyone, not even her betrothed on brief visits to and from the Trigeda queen. She opens her mouth to refute it before she realises that multiple people are staring at her from down the table. Including Josephine._

_To her surprise, it’s her cousin that saves her from the situation. She stands up, offers an arm. ‘Come cousin. I feel bloated, and you look like you could use some air.’_

_As much as Clarke’s instincts tell her to stay away, she has to use this opportunity to get away from Gabriel. She nods her head, and they escort each other out to the balcony gardens. Clarke rubs her arms up and down. She’s not cold, she’s never cold. But she can’t stop herself from shivering._

_‘Josephine, you have to believe me. None of it is true. He’s deluded. I don’t want anything to do with him.’_

_Her cousin doesn’t reply, just leads her to the railing, and looks out over the fields that surround the palace. _

_‘I know, Clarke.’_

_Clarke pauses. ‘You do?’_

_Josephine sighs, looking out at the night sky. ‘I tried. Tried to be the one he would love. He’s so smart, you know? So creative. Such a brilliant man. But he only had eyes for you.’_

_She’s even more confused than ever. ‘I’ve stayed away from him, though. I wasn’t going to…’ Clarke shakes her head._

_Her cousin ignores her. ‘Being a Graceling is a funny thing. We’re so disliked, generally, despite us having such superior skills.’ She turns to Clarke. Josephine’s eyes are blue and brown. One like her father’s, one like her mother’s. ‘Well, most of us. No one seems to understand that. We should be worshipped like gods.’_

_Clarke frowns. ‘But…we’re Gracelings.’_

_‘Exactly!’ Josephine cries. ‘We’re _Graced_. Graced with powers beyond what they could ever dream. And I had one. A dream. It was him. And so I used it. My Grace. To get him.’_

_Clarke’s gut is heaving. There’s something in her telling her to run far away right now. ‘Get him?’ She asks it despite herself, fighting the instinct to flee._

_Josephine grips her hand on the railing. ‘I thought if he knew who I was eventually, that he’d realised he’d fallen for _me_. But he approached you. _As_ you. Before I could tell him.’_

_She has no idea what her cousin is on about. It has something to do with her Grace, she surmises. But they’ve never been sure what was so special about Josephine’s power._

_‘Josie, I don’t..’_

_‘Don’t call me that!’ Josephine grabs her wrist, suddenly, holding it so tightly that Clarke’s hand aches. ‘It’s useless. I have the most powerful Grace in the world, but I still can’t have him. Because he’s caught up in _you.’

‘_Josephine, you’re hurting me!’_

_‘Josephine! What are you doing? Let go of her!’_

_Gabriel is striding towards them across the balcony gardens. Clarke doesn’t know whether to be relieved or more scared. When she glances at her cousin’s face, she decides on the latter. Josephine’s mouth is contorted into a snarl, her eyes flashing with anger. _

_‘You want her? Have her! Have _me_.’_

_And this time, Clarke feels it happening. She guesses that the other times, she’d been asleep, and hadn’t noticed the other consciousness invading her mind. Josephine’s mind is _in _hers. Suddenly, the missing memories make sense. She wasn’t forgetful._

_She wasn’t herself._

_Clarke feels her mouth twist into a seductive, simpering smile. ‘Gabriel. Thank the gods. I thought she was about to do something to me!’ Against her will, her eyes slide to Josephine’s body. She isn’t unconscious, but she does look dazed. Out of it. It must be difficult to possess Clarke’s body while not letting her own collapse._

_With that thought, all at once the gravity of what’s happening to her falls onto Clarke, and she screams. Josephine is controlling her body like she’s a puppet, like she’s one of her dolls from when they were children. She screams again and hears a voice in her mind. Not out loud. _

Shut up, cousin. All that does is make both our heads hurt. Ugh. This was much easier when you were asleep.

_Clarke wants to vomit from the fear, but she can’t. She can’t do anything. She watches, helpless, as her body strides towards Gabriel’s. He looks even more confused than before, eyes darting to Josephine, standing dazed behind them._

_‘Clarke? I thought you said…’_

_‘Never mind what I said,’ Josephine drawls with Clarke’s voice. ‘I’ll stop being a stick in the mud, I promise.’_

_He still looks sceptical but smiles, pleased, when she steps closer into his space. ‘You still like me?’_

_‘Like me? I want you to kiss me, Gabriel.’_

_Clarke watches it in slow-motion, horrified. Gabriel leaning towards her, Josephine leaning up. She screams again. She can’t let this happen._

_She doesn’t have fists right now, but she imagines them. She imagines pounding on a glass screen between her and her body, and thumps it, thumps it until it shatters._

_And her hands are over her ears, and she’s screaming. Actually screaming. With her voice. Gabriel grasps her shoulders. ‘Clarke? Clarke! Are you okay? What the hell?’_

_Tears are pouring down her face, and she vomits, funnily enough on Gabriel’s shoes. He doesn’t seem to notice._

_Behind her, there’s a voice. ‘Oh, cousin. You really didn’t want to do that. Now I’m just going to have to get rid of you.’_

_Clarke spins around, and Josephine is staring her down. ‘No!’ she yells it at the top of her voice, hoarse and high. ‘Stay out of my head!’_

_But she’s expelled all her energy, and she feels Josephine’s mind invading once again. Pushing her to the back of her head. Her Grace is very powerful, Clarke realises. To be able to keep doing this._

_Josephine takes control again, but to Clarke’s surprise, she doesn’t act like it. ‘No!’ She screams with Clarke’s voice. ‘I can’t take it anymore. It’s all too much!’_

_And they start walking towards the railing._

_Clarke’s blood runs cold. She’s going to kill them. Kill _her. _She watches as Josephine climbs them onto the flimsy wire fence that separates the balcony from a deadly drop._

_‘Clarke, no! What are you doing?’ Gabriel shouts from behind them. She can’t look back to see where exactly he is, how close. She can’t control anything._

_‘Stay back or I’ll jump!’ Josephine cries dramatically. She looks back at them now. Gabriel has his hands up, in a placating gesture. Behind him, Clarke sees the doors to the garden open, and her aunt and uncle and the other nobles spill in, summoned by the commotion. Their jaws drop at the sight before them. Clarke in her dinner dress, balancing precariously on the railing, a deadly drop below. _

_‘Clarke, get down from there at once!’ Simone shouts, bustling towards them. Josephine snickers in their shared mind. _

Fat chance of that. This is where we say goodbye, cousin.

_Clarke looks out at the scene before her, desperately. She can’t die like this. Not by Josephine’s hand. Not even as herself. _

_Then she sees her cousin, out of the corner of her eye. Her cousin’s body, anyway. It’s standing nonchalantly in the shadow of a plinth off to the side, for once not attracting attention. Josephine must have to leave her body in a sort of idle state, Clarke realises. And then it hits her. She might not have Josephine’s Grace. But obviously, there was some method of travelling here, to Clarke’s mind. And she would have to have a way to travel back, just after she makes Clarke’s body jump, if she wants to survive._

_Who’s to say Clarke can’t use that same path, and land safely into Josephine’s body?_

_She only has seconds until Josephine goes through with it. So she searches, desperately. It’s weird and abstract, to scrabble around in her own mind. But she thinks of things she knows Josephine finds safety in. Her parents. The palace gardens. The library._

_The library. Clarke stumbles through the door in her mind and suddenly she’s watching herself. Watching herself from Josephine’s body._

_She doesn’t hesitate, but it’s unwieldy, clumsy. She doesn’t know if Josephine’s automatically good at controlling another’s body due to her Grace, or if she’s just had more practice. _

_But it doesn’t matter right now. She stumbles forward towards her own body, and grabs onto it, pulling herself down. The railing breaks._

_They both pitch forward, but Clarke manages to find her balance, heaving Josephine back with her._

_And all the while, she screams._

_‘It’s her Grace! Josephine’s Grace. She’s swapped our bodies. She’s trying to kill me!’_

_She doesn’t know if they’ll believe her, doesn’t know if they’ll just think she’s crazy. But it’s all she can do._

_Josephine screams in rage. ‘No! You don’t get to do this.’ And before Clarke knows it, she’s staring into her own eyes. It’s a surreal experience, because it’s not exactly like looking in a mirror. Her bright blue and bright silver eyes aren’t her own, and the light behind them is different. They’re also switched, to what she usually sees. She’s seeing herself through another’s eyes._

_And then suddenly she’s back behind her own. Staring at Josephine. Who’s swapped them back. Who’s trying to kill her._

_Clarke had known her cousin was probably a sociopath. She’d never had empathy for others, not like Clarke had. She’d always been cruel to her, cruel to the other children around them. Manipulated her parents like it was nothing, playing them with the ease she played their grand piano._

_But she’d never thought Josephine would try to kill her. Over a boy. A boy she wasn’t even fighting her for._

_Now that they’re back in their own bodies, Josephine is dragging her towards the edge again. Clarke had been clumsy in her cousin’s larger, two-years-older frame. But now Josephine had control of that strength, Clarke found it hard to fight back._

_But she does. She twists and wriggles, bites down on Josephine’s arms, wrenches herself out of her grasp. Josephine is a woman on a mission, though. She barely seems to register that this is happening in front of a crowd, in front of her parents and Gabriel. _

_Clarke realises that’s the answer, again. She can’t let them think they’re still swapped. ‘Let go of me, Josephine. Stop, please!’_

_To her relief, Josephine doesn’t realise she should keep up a front. She’s too focused. On murder._

_‘Why won’t you just die _willingly_, cousin. Clarke Griffin. You always have to make things harder.’ She grits her teeth. ‘Just _die.’

_Something in Clarke snaps then. At the time, she thinks it’s desperation. A last surge of strength. She learns later it’s her Grace. One that Josephine wouldn’t dared have messed with, had she known._

_Without knowing how, Clarke twists her arm out of Josephine’s grip. She kicks at the same time, shoving her heel into her cousin’s chest. Her assailant widens her eyes in shock – Clarke’s never been trained in any sort of combat. She’s an artist, a dreamer. _

_But somehow, Clarke knows exactly what to do. She twists again, launching an elbow into Josephine’s ribcage. They grapple near the edge, and Clarke’s feet back away without her thinking, balancing herself. She’s facing Josephine now, has her backed onto the edge. _

_‘Just stop, Josephine,’ she begs. ‘I didn’t do anything.’_

_Clarke only now realises she’s a mess. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, she’s sobbing as she fights for her life. She doesn’t want to hurt Josephine, doesn’t want to hurt anyone._

_But her cousin makes a final mistake. She attempts last hit. She grabs Clarke by the shoulders, pulling, meaning to hurl her over the edge. But Clarke’s Grace reacts immediately. She ducks and hits out with the back of her hand._

_It caves in. Josephine’s jaw. Clarke doesn’t even register that, at first. That comes later, in her dreams. The slow-motion image of her hand smashing into Josephine’s cheek. Clarke’s not even that strong, but her Grace must be. And whatever strength she has, her hand impacts the exact place needed to shatter her cousin’s face. _

_Josephine’s eyes widen, just for a split second. The pain doesn’t even register in her eyes. Just surprise. Clarke gasps in a breath as she her eyes meet Josephine’s for the last time. Those blue and brown eyes will haunt her forever._

_And then she falls. Backwards, off the edge. Clarke’s not sure which hit killed her. The slap to the jaw, or the impact on the stones down below. It doesn’t matter in the end. It may have been in self-defense, but Clarke was a murderer._

_The rest of the night is chaos, a complete blur. She feels Gabriel drag her back from the edge, but she’s hysterical. Her aunt and uncle would kill her for this. What was the point of surviving if they’d just execute her?_

_It turns out her fears are unfounded. To her surprise, they believe her about Josephine’s Grace. It seems that Clarke hasn’t been the only one possessed in the middle of the night._

_They’re not happy that she’s dead, of course. But they look at Clarke now with fear and respect. Her Grace, she realises. They’re afraid._

_It’s Kane, Russell and Simone’s spymaster and old friend of her parents, that tells her what she is, and Kane who begins training her, letting her use her inhuman talent for something. Russell and Simone soon realise her worth, and name her their heir, now that Josephine’s gone. It doesn’t matter to Clarke. She never wanted to rule, and she’ll abdicate as soon as she can._

_It’s her aunt who has the idea, but her uncle who forces her to realise it. He approaches her during her exercises one day and forces her to use the skills she’s learnt on Tai, a rebellious servant in the castle. Soon, it’s for everything. She’s their muscle, their royal princess assassin. Their attack dog. _

_The people of Sanctum begin to call her Wanheda. It means ‘the commander of death’ in the old tongue, and it sticks. Her aunt and uncle encourage it – it only makes the people more afraid and compliant._

_Because that’s who Clarke is now. Not a lady. A princess, but more than that. A monster; a Graceling blessed with the skill of killing._

*

FIVE YEARS LATER

Clarke notices the shadow a split second before the figure appears before her. Immediately, all her senses turn to high alert – because if she hadn’t seen or heard this person, there must be something special about them, and if there’s something special about them, they’re dangerous. Not to mention shouldn’t be here, in the tunnels of Mount Weather.

The stance of the unknown stranger is careful, almost cat-like. It reminds Clarke of herself – arms tensed but by the sides, knees slightly bent, ready to run, leap, attack. And most fighters she’s met aren’t nearly as quiet as this figure. Her ears should have picked up their footsteps or breathing long before they got this close.

Still, she doesn’t attack yet. They’re an unknown, and that’s put the mission at risk. She can’t afford to let Gabriel and Kane into the tunnels until it’s safe, and if there are unaccounted-for people here, she needs to know more.

The figure steps closer, haltingly. It’s pitch dark in the tunnels, and any other person wouldn’t be able to see.

But she’s Clarke.

She slides closer too, and all at once they’re locked in a grapple, struggling, pushing at each other. She swings her leg out to unbalance them, but they jump at the last second, tackling her to the ground. Clarke, much smaller, squeezes out of their grasp and delivers a sharp elbow to their neck, causing them to double over choking. She scrambles over them, eager to deliver a final blow – they were obviously way too much trouble to be worth interrogating, if they can fight this well – but then their eyes lock.

She sees them despite the very limited light. One dark brown eye, one a gold shinier than the finest jewellery Josephine used to swan around in, glimmering through the darkness. He (for having wrestled with him, she can feel his tight corded muscles bound in a men’s tunic) seems to be just as surprised, judging from his gasp. He’s seen her eyes too.

Which should be impossible, Clarke reminds herself. Graceling or no, not many people can see through a darkness this thick. But evidently, this Graceling can, and he can see her own blue and silver eyes marking her as the same as him.

A voice cuts through the pause they’re both taking. His voice is deep, slightly raspy. Warm. And an accent she’s never heard before.

‘I’ve heard of a woman with eyes like yours.’ Clarke doesn’t answer, doesn’t even breathe. If he knows who she is, they’re screwed. ‘And fighting skills.’ There’s another pause. ‘_Wanheda_.’

Clarke inhales sharply. Shit. _Shit._ If he knew who she was, there was a chance he could come to Sanctum and inform her aunt and uncle of her activities tonight. And that, she could not allow. Not only would it disrupt this mission, this rescue, but it would undermine all the good Eden had done.

The man begins to move, but Clarke’s not an amateur – the opposite, really. She keeps him pinned down with strategic points – his elbow, his neck, his feet, his belly. Or lack of one. It’s cliché, but she’s impressed by the hardness of his abs beneath her knee as she presses down.

Underneath her, the man huffs a laugh, and stops struggling. He seems to know he’s defeated. ‘That’s not a denial. But it does raise some questions for me, I admit. What is the princess assassin of Sanctum doing in the Mount Weather tunnels in the middle of the night, when I know for a fact her kingdom is at peace with Dante, and last I heard, she was on a trip to Eligius?’

Clarke digs her knee in harder, finding some small satisfaction in a caught breath. This stranger knew too much about her activities. Of course it was suspicious that she was here, on the opposite side of the kingdoms to where she should be. But it was more suspicious that he was, really. A Graceling, probably a fighter. Maya’s intel had been that the guards were not Graced, that they’d be easy to take out one by one. Especially for _Wanheda_.

This man was an unknown quantity. And she didn’t like that one bit. Not when the life of an Arcadian prince was at stake.

She frowns down at the man, who stares back her, unblinking. And that’s when she notices. His hand, the one not bent behind him at an awkward angle. She sees the golden rings, not quite a match for his eye, but close.

Arcadian rings.

Suddenly, this makes even less sense. She’s rescuing a kidnapped Arcadian prince from the dungeons of Mount Weather, but she’s sure the description of him was not of a Graceling. Dark skin, dark eyes, short hair. It was hard to see in almost no light, but this man had shaggy, curly hair, a bird’s nest on his head. And there was no way a description of him would leave out his eyes. Not when even in the darkness her gaze is caught in them.

But if he wasn’t the Arcadian prince, why was he here? Arcadia was across the ocean, and even more suspicious, the prince’s location hadn’t been easy for them to seek out. What was an Arcadian Graced fighter doing in the tunnels, when he couldn’t possibly know the prince was here?

Clarke’s hesitance costs her. She can only use her small weight against his larger frame for so long, and he acts as soon as one grip weakens. He flips them, holding her down with considerable ease. Or so he thinks.

_Wanheda_ doesn’t get held down. She could escape in two movements, but she finds she wants to think about her course of action first.

What was an Arcadian doing here? Was he part of the plot to kidnap the prince? Or was he a force working with whoever had paid the Wallaces to imprison the Arcadian royal (for she sure that was what had happened)? Her mission had been to subdue every witness down here, and her time was running out. Gabriel and Kane would tell her to kill him. No witnesses, no mystery.

But she’s sick of killing. She may be Graced with it, but it doesn’t mean she enjoys it. It’s why she’d begged Raven for the pills in her pocket to drug the guards with. And while she doesn’t know a lot about Arcadia, she does know their royal family is supposed to be beloved, and she can’t quite believe one of their Graced fighters would be working against the prince. And at the end of the day, he was the priority.

As she’s thinking all of this, getting ready to spring out of his grip and subdue him in five, four, three…the man releases her. She’s so shocked she doesn’t even move for a second, but he’s shifted his weight off her body, undone his tight grip from her wrists. He kneels back, looking her right in the eye, despite the darkness.

‘I trust you,’ he says, which is more bizarre than anything else about him. Clarke doesn’t even know what to do with that. But after a pregnant pause, her instincts kick in. He may be letting her go, but he’s still a threat to her companions. She can’t leave him awake.

Her foot strikes out like a viper, clocking him on the temple. It’s a good hit, she muses, after standing up. Not deadly, but it’s knocked him out cold.

She fingers the pills in her pocket, the ones she has to feed to the rest of the guards she will quickly need to dispatch after this delay. Raven had said it would cause agonising welts and rashes to erupt on the skin, a low dose of something she called radiation. But not deadly, and it would knock them out cold for a few hours, leaving time for Kane and Gabriel to rescue the prince and be far away. Hopefully, it would look like an outbreak of the sickness that has afflicted the citizens of Mount Weather for years. Hopefully, it would look like someone had taken advantage of it to steal King Dante’s prisoner. Hopefully, nothing would point to the loyal assassin of the neutral kingdom of Sanctum. She’s usually careful to hide her eyes; no one but this Arcadian will see them.

Clarke looks down at the man. His fingers are adorned with the Arcadian golden rings, like she’d noticed before. And now that her eyes have more time to adjust to the light, she notices a hint of freckles adorning his face.

He’s a handsome one, to be sure. It would be a shame to mar that face. Instead of the red pills, she digs out a sleeping pill from the small medicine kit she has slung on her belt. This would have to do.

After administering the dose and walking away, Clarke can’t help but feel conflicted. It feels like the right thing, in her heart. The same feeling that told her to start Eden in the first place. But she knows Gabriel and Kane would be furious if they found out.

So, she resolves, after all the guards are knocked out, and she’s sneaking out of the tunnels and into the forest, that she just won’t tell them.

*

Kane and Gabriel are in the agreed hideout when she finally circles back, but they’re asleep. Idiots. If they’d been followed, everything would have gone up in flames. They lecture her about keeping to her strengths, yet they couldn’t even keep one measly watch.

Still, she’s here now. The three of them are sleeping uncomfortably, leaning against a tree. Clarke uses the opportunity to study the Arcadian prince they rescued. He doesn’t look so royal right now. His face is bruised, dirty, the clothes he’s wearing are in tatters. He’s definitely thinner than she thinks he probably usually is, which doesn’t surprise Clarke. The Wallaces keeping their prisoners malnourished wouldn’t be their worst crime.

But she can’t deny there’s something regal about his face, even while he’s sleeping. She’s never seen a portrait of either of the Jahas of Arcadia – the King, Thelonious, or his son, lying in front of her now. But she bets there’s a strong resemblance.

Out of nothing better to do, she lights a fire to begin breakfast. They will have to travel fast and hard today, to reach the Sanctum palace by nightfall. And she wants to have enough time to be extra stealthy when she sneaks the prince in.

Unsurprisingly, the smell of cooking rabbit wakes Gabriel first. He nods at her blearily, but she just scowls.

‘Were you trying to get caught?’

Gabriel glowers back. ‘What did we do this time?’

Clarke just gestures around her. ‘Great watch you had running. I approached and there wasn’t a single thing to stop me.’

He just sighs. ‘To be fair, Clarke, nobody could stop you approaching. Lighten up. We’re all still here.’

She opens her mouth to argue, but Kane is stirring, and she decides to wait. He’s short with her at the best of times, and it’s the early morning.

They eat breakfast quietly. Clarke wolfs hers down, waiting impatiently for the others. But when she goes to wake the prince, they stop her.

‘What?’

‘He’s been drugged,’ Kane explains. ‘He was barely conscious when we got him out of the cell, but he didn’t resist. Seemed to realise we were help. But I think he’s still out of it. We’ll just strap him to a horse.’

It’s not the best idea, but Clarke can’t think of a better one, so they set off like that anyway. Luckily, the day is uneventful, and the prince doesn’t even wake from the cantering horse. They reach Sanctum by nightfall, and Clarke lets Kane and Gabriel ride off before she leads the horse the prince is strapped to down quiet alleyways that won’t draw them any attention.

Sanctum was a maze, but she knew it well. And even luckier, she knew secrets about the palace her aunt and uncle had never bothered to find. And now that Josephine was gone, her cousin couldn’t stumble upon her either.

Clarke heaves the prince through a secret passage at the side of the castle, cursing that the drugs were still in effect. Or they were. She accidentally bumps his head at one point, causing him to stir.

‘Where’m I? Where? Resc’ue?’

‘Shit. Sorry, Highness. This is a rescue, yes. I’m taking you to somewhere safe.’

She manages to help him stand, although he leans on her heavily, eyes not focusing. ‘Dizzy,’ he mumbles.

‘Yes, Highness. They drugged you. But I have a friend who can help, if you could just…’

The prince frowns down at her, shaking his head as if clearing the confusion. ‘No…’ He waves his hand. ‘Highness. Just Wells.’

Clarke sighs. She gets the sentiment, but it seems rude. He’s the Prince of Arcadia. But one look at his frown, and she accedes. ‘Well, Just Wells, we just have a little bit further and you can rest and recover for a long time.’

Wells violently shakes his head, flinching when it’s obviously painful. She reaches out, wincing, to still his head. No use him injuring himself further. But she forgets, for a moment, that doing so will let him see under the hood she’s cloaked on her head to hide her blonde hair and her eyes.

His eyes widen, but only very slightly. It’s obvious he recognises her. But he doesn’t look fearful, to Clarke’s surprise. And it’s only a moment later he slumps back to lean on her. ‘Eyes…pretty.’

Clarke swallows. Well that was a new one. She didn’t hate her eyes, but no Graceling ever thought the sign of their power was pretty. In fact, it was usually the thing other people avoided most. Clarke’s spent most of her life having conversations with people who met her gaze.

So she finds that she likes this Prince Wells, after all. She’s glad she’s rescued him, and thankful he doesn’t avoid mentioning her eyes. They were prominent, after all.

Unfortunately, the drugs must take him back under soon after that. Clarke may be Graced with physical skills, but she’s no super-strengther. It takes her the better part of half an hour to finally drag the prince up flights of stairs to the right door and knock on it softly.

Raven opens it immediately, raising her eyebrows at the sight of Wells draped onto Clarke’s side.

‘One delivery of an Arcadian prince, for the Council of Eden?’

Her friend just rolls her eyes, and helps Clarke drag him in, depositing him on a bed in the corner.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Drugged. He woke up once but hell if I know when it’ll wear off.’ Raven nods and goes to her desk, rifling through it.

‘That’s fine. We’ll find something to wake him up. How’d it go? How’d the pills work?’

Clarke smiles. ‘Excellent. They looked just like the sickness. I have no idea what King Dante will think happened, but it should distract them from looking at us.’

‘And it all went smoothly?’

She hesitates. It didn’t. But she’s unsure if she wants to reveal the presence of the Arcadian Graceling. Raven might tell the others, and she doesn’t want them on her case right now. She looks up to see Raven studying her keenly.

‘Yeah,’ she lies. ‘Smooth as silk.’

She can see that Raven knows she’s hiding something, but thankfully her friend doesn’t pry. Raven presses some new clothes into Clarke’s hands. ‘Come on. You’d better get going. Russell will be suspicious if you take too much longer in Eligius.’

Clarke nods. Eden had to be hidden at all costs from her aunt and uncle. Their fledgling organisation was finally doing some good in the world, and Clarke would die before the King of Sanctum put a stop to it.

‘I’ll see you later, Raven. Wake him up,’ she nods to the corner.

Raven rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, I’m on it. Don’t worry, Monty will have something in his garden. Get going.’

Clarke slips out quiet and makes her way to the other side of town, onwards to meet Gabriel and Kane on their way to Eligius.

*

As much as Clarke hates the trips her uncle sends her on, she is grateful they give her the opportunity to do missions for Eden. Riding alongside Kane and Gabriel as they thunder towards the Western kingdom of Eligius, she can’t help but ponder it all. She hates her official titles – _Wanheda_, Lady Princess Clarke Griffin. She’s Graced with killing, she’s King Russell and Queen Simone’s heir, niece, and official assassin. Attack dog, more like, Clarke thinks viciously. But she can’t deny it’s given her the opportunity to improve life in the kingdoms.

It was unfortunate that the citizens needed protecting from their own leaders. Especially the ones in the western cluster of mainland kingdoms – Arcadia, out to sea, she’d heard, was peaceful, their King beloved. And Polaris, over the Eastern mountains, had apparently transformed its capital into a city of light and love, with everyone welcome.

It sounded pretty great to Clarke.

But unfortunately, she was Lady Clarke Griffin of Sanctum. Her King and Queen, Russell and Simone, were peaceful on the surface. But everyone knew how they kept it that way, kept any sort of rebellion under wraps. The power of their dangerous Graced niece, the girl who’d killed her own cousin.

The kingdoms surrounding Sanctum weren’t much better. There was the mining kingdom of Eligius to the west, ruled by Queen Charmaine Diyoza, where life was hard and gruelling, and more citizens resided in derelict prisons than lived freely. Azgeda was to the north, Queen Nia’s rule unchallenged for years. Clarke hadn’t ever been there, but she knew it was a land of tribalism and ruthlessness. Mount Weather was to the east, bordering the mountains that separated it from Polaris. The Wallaces, King Dante and his son, Prince Cage, were known for being sadists. They purportedly protected their vulnerable and sickly citizens from a ravaging disease, which kept them in power. But Clarke suspected there was more underneath the surface with them. The Wallaces would sell out their people in a second if they knew it would gain them wealth.

Finally, there was Trigeda to the south. It was probably the most peaceful of the five bloodier kingdoms above it, but Queen Lexa was known for being hyperfocused on military strength and revenge for any slights against her kingdom, and its people suffered for it.

She tried to avoid going to Trigeda these days, even if work for Eden called for it. Once upon a time, she’d been promised to Lexa, an excellent match for both of them. A noble young lady from Sanctum marrying the young Queen of Trigeda.

But then Clarke’s eyes had settled, just as her cousin Josephine’s had before her. And then her Grace had revealed itself, in the dramatic way they often did.

Of course, Lexa had said the polite things. Still offered to keep the betrothal. But Clarke had decided then, that she couldn’t. She couldn’t marry anyone who couldn’t look her in the eyes without fear. And if that meant she spent her days alone, the rabid assassin of Sanctum, secretly healing the kingdoms through the work of the Council of Eden, well. She could live with that. Marriage would just trap her even further.

Eden had been her idea. It’s grown now, more than Clarke ever could have imagined. It started with her, Raven, and Monty, delivering medicines in the night to sickly peasants whom Russell and Simone ignored. And it just expanded from there. They’d enlisted Gabriel, the sympathetic Lord of land just to the north of the palace, and Kane, the spymaster for Russell and Simone, but an old friend of her parents. Monty’s friend Jasper had helped too, and soon they had contacts from all over the five nearby kingdoms. Lord Zeke Shaw, from Eligius. Prince Roan from Azgeda. Maya from Mount Weather. Lincoln from Trigeda.

It was a good system. They protected the people, found out about the petty wars between their kingdoms and led the people away from the crossfire. They delivered medicine, transferred messages, reunited separated families.

Clarke’s proud of Eden like she can’t be of anything else. She may be able to kill seven men in three seconds with a rope and her fist, but nothing will ever give her more joy than seeing a child laugh as they embrace their father again.

It’s why, when Gabriel and Kane begin to slow their horses, Clarke becomes annoyed. The sooner they get to Eligius, the sooner she can get her task over and done with, and the sooner they can get back home. And they can figure out why on earth an Arcadian prince had been prisoner in the dungeons of Mount Weather.

‘Lady Clarke,’ Kane calls tiredly. ‘You need to let the horse rest.’ She’s trying to subtly increase the pace again, but they’re having none of it. ‘It’s night time anyway. Only you can see in this dark.’

Clarke sighs. She knows he’s right, but it doesn’t mean she has to like it. Grudgingly, she slows her horse, and they make camp. Despite her wish to keep going, they’ve made good time. They’ll reach Eligius by midday tomorrow and be heading back before they know it. She only wishes she could avoid what’s in-between.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Clarke looks up from staring into the fire to find Gabriel gazing at her, one eyebrow raised. It makes her feel a bit sick sometimes, looking at him. Knowing he sometimes, even just for a second, wishes she was someone else.

‘Just thinking about Wells. I want to get back there, figure out what’s going on.’

‘Wells?’

Clarke sighs. ‘The prince. He told me to call him Wells. Don’t ask me why, I tried to be polite.’

Gabriel hums, taking a drink from his flask. ‘Those Arcadians are strange ones.’ He chuckles. ‘You told me once their accent reminded you of the way birds call to each other.’

Clarke stiffens, breaking his gaze. ‘Gabriel. That wasn’t me. That was Josephine.’

He pauses, stricken. ‘Clarke. I’m sorry. I didn’t remember…’

‘It’s fine,’ Clarke tells him shortly. But she doesn’t feel like talking to him anymore. Not when he still can’t recall the difference. ‘I’m going to bed. We need to leave early tomorrow, don’t make us late.’

‘Clarke,’ Gabriel pleads, but it’s too late. Clarke lies down in her bedroll, facing away from the fire and Gabriel’s sad eyes. She wills the images of Josephine away, wills the feeling of her body not being hers to vanish. And then she wills herself to sleep and doesn’t wake until first light.

*

She knows it’s unfair to keep ignoring Gabriel as they pack up in the morning, but Clarke can’t help it. He’s fucked up, once again. It hurts every time, and more than that, it strikes the fear of Josephine back into her, every single time.

If Kane notices the tension between them, he doesn’t comment. He packs up as efficiently as he always has, and only speaks when they’re trotting off.

‘Lady Clarke, I should warn you. We just heard something new about the noble we’re visiting.’

She hums to let him know to go on.

‘His name is Tor Lemkin. He has a daughter, Reese. The one who lost her eye. We’re being sent to him because he’s not paid the tithe on the Sanctum forest his men hunt in on time.’

‘Okay. And?’

Kane sighs heavily. ‘I just found out. He has another daughter. Charlotte. A Graceling.’

Clarke turns around in her saddle, surprised. ‘A Graceling? She isn’t with the Queen?’

Gracelings, in the kingdoms, were considered royal property. Once a child’s eyes had settled, they were sent to live in the palace, where they would find their Grace and if it was useful, live in service to the King or Queen.

Clarke hadn’t needed to move. Her mother was Simone’s sister, she’d already lived in the palace.

‘No. Queen Diyoza sent her back.’

‘Why? Graced with something useless? Tying shoes? Extra fast at eating?’

‘No.’ Kane says. He seems reluctant to say.

‘Just tell me, Marcus.’

Kane sighs heavily. ‘She’s a mindreader.’

He’s lucky that Clarke is an excellent horsewoman. She almost screeches to a stop and falls off, but a combination of her excellent balance, and Gabriel riding up beside her to grab her reigns keeps her from tumbling.

She levels a glare at Gabriel – this doesn’t mean he’s forgiven – and wheels back to Kane. ‘A mindreader? How could…how could you not tell me this?’

‘I did not know until just yesterday. Apparently, she’s untrained, and it wasn’t convenient for Queen Diyoza to have her in the castle.’

‘I bet she wasn’t,’ Clarke mutters. Kane knows how much she detests Gracelings with mind powers. After everything, after Josephine…

‘Look,’ Kane says patiently, after letting Clarke brood for a few seconds. ‘I’m sure we can ask Lord Lemkin to keep her far away from us. Besides, I’m not even sure what kind of mindreader she is.’

Mindreaders tended to take a while to come into their powers, and they were all different. That’s what made them so dangerous. That’s what made Josephine so dangerous, back when her Grace had settled. They hadn’t known what her exact talent was until it was too late.

Clarke shivers. ‘I know we still have to do this mission. But if you can, keep that cursed girl away from me. I only have so much self-control.’

Kane nods. She knows that he knows she’s exaggerating a little. Clarke may be _Wanheda_, and she may hate mindreaders, but she hated to hurt children. But he gives her this one.

Clarke continues riding, ignoring the burning stare of Gabriel at her back. After all this time, she still can’t escape the ghost of her monstrous cousin.

As she predicted, they reach the outskirts of Eligius by midday. Clarke’s glad they’re not heading to the capital. She’s met Queen Diyoza, and she was ruthless yet fair. But her second in command gave her the creeps. Lord Lemkin may have a mindreader daughter, but she would still rather come here than face Lord McCreary.

If it wasn’t for the opportunity to leave Sanctum, however, Clarke would rather not come here at all. It’s her job, but she hates it. Lord Tor Lemkin has done something to offend her aunt and uncle, and now he would pay. Clarke’s knives are tucked into her sleeves, her boots, her belt; she knows that’s what her uncle wants her to use on the poor man.

The servants at the Lemkin residence don’t seem surprised to see them. They open the gates immediately, and it isn’t long before they’re standing in a greeting room, and Tor Lemkin, a rough looking man with kind blue eyes, is before them.

‘I assume you know why we’re here.’ Kane is often the one who speaks. He’s best with words, and Clarke’s reputation better serves her if she’s silent.

‘I think I have a pretty good idea,’ Tor replies evenly. His eyes sweep over the three of them, but they catch on Clarke. She sees the fear in them, and she hates it. He doesn’t meet her gaze though. No one ever does.

Gabriel clears his throat and takes out a ledger. Clarke knows he hates this almost as much as she does, but they don’t have a choice. If he refused, he’d be the one on the end of Clarke’s blades.

‘Lord Tor Lemkin of Eligius. You owe King Russell and Queen Simone of Sanctum a tithe for the use of forest and the game within them over the border. You have failed to pay this tithe.’

Tor grimaces. ‘It was delayed. I was going to pay it, soon. I was waiting for money from Queen Diyoza, for my daughter. I swear, I can pay it now.’

Inside, Clarke’s heart wrenches. Another man put between a rock and a hard place by the rulers of the kingdoms. Diyoza was known for being delayed in her Graceling payments. And now Tor Lemkin was being punished for it, by another king.

‘Unfortunately, there was a deadline for the payment.’ Gabriel sounds reluctant. He knows as much as Clarke that this isn’t the man’s fault. ‘The King and Queen have asked for compensation. Interest, for the delay. Another fifty percent.’

Tor breathes out hard through his nose. ‘Fine. I’ll go get the coin for you now. Just…’ he makes to leave. ‘Do you have to punish me?’ His eyes glance over Clarke again. She knows that he knows his request is fruitless. Her aunt and uncle have spies everywhere, and they would demand an even harsher punishment if Clarke didn’t go through with this beating.

Kane is the one who answers, luckily. He knows how much Clarke and Gabriel detest their jobs, but he’s been in his position for years. He’s used to it. ‘Unfortunately, the King and Queen believe a lesson must be learned,’ he says smoothly. ‘Deterrent, you see.’

Tor just nods, accepting. ‘Fine. But let me make sure my daughter is far away. I’ll go get the coin.’

He trudges heavily off, and Clarke feels sick. She feels a hand on her shoulder. Gabriel. She shakes it off. ‘I’m fine. Go get the coin.’

Kane and Gabriel leave, and Clarke waits, stomach rolling, for Tor Lemkin to get back. He does so soon, his hands empty. The coin has been paid.

‘Well, Lady Princess. Get this over with, will you?’ He stands in front of her, hands dangling by his side. He still doesn’t meet her eyes.

Clarke moves forward, drawing a blade from her sleeve. Maybe she’ll be able to leave shallow scars this time. Not too many screams. She hates when they scream.

‘Wait!’ He suddenly croaks, just as Clarke’s about to slice. She stops, keeping her face stoic. She hopes he doesn’t beg, she hates it when they do that. It’s much easier if they just stay silent, taking the unfair punishment.

‘Please. I’m not trying to stop you. I just ask…can you do it where clothes can cover it up? I’m trying to shield my daughter, Reese, from the violence of this world. And Charlotte…she’s so impressionable. Please, Lady Princess. It is the one thing I ask.’

Clarke watches him carefully. He seems genuine, and she hates that it makes her heart crack. Children have always been her soft spot. He’s more than paid what he’s owed, she can give him this. She just hopes that her uncle never finds out.

Before she attacks, she speaks, and hopes he gathers her meaning. ‘Tell them it hurt a lot.’

Instead of the blade, she swings with the handle of the dagger, and knocks it into his head. He’s out cold. But it’s too clean. She sighs, and lifts up the collar of his tunic, and makes two thin, minor cuts. There, hopefully he could show that as evidence.

It’s dangerous, what she’s trying to do. If they found out…

But they won’t, Clarke reasons. Tor Lemkin seems a smart man, and he’d be a total idiot to reveal _Wanheda_’s mercy. It would just mean they’d send her back to him, this time, with a watching witness.

She cleans the blade and goes to stalk out of the room. At least this ordeal was finally over, and she could get back to Sanctum and talk to the prince.

As she goes to exit the room, she hears a sound. She shoots her head around, and there, in the corner, hiding behind a tapestry. A little girl. Reese Lemkin wasn’t a Graceling, but had one eye missing, Kane had said. This girl has two eyes, and one gleams bright green while the other is a muddy brown.

Charlotte Lemkin stares at her across the room, and Clarke can barely contain the fury. Mindreaders. She chooses her next thoughts carefully and viciously, and screams them loudly, clearly in her thoughts.

_If you tell anyone what happened, I will come for you with more knives. Stay out of my head, or else._

To her satisfaction, Charlotte gasps, and flees the room. Well. At least that worked. She shakes her head as she goes to meet back up with Kane and Gabriel. Graceling or not, anyone who messed with her mind was her enemy, plain and simple.

*

To Clarke’s displeasure, a storm interrupts their journey home, and they have to take shelter at a nearby inn. She knows that Kane is expecting a fight from her, but even she isn’t in the mood to look like a drowned rat today.

At least the inn’s food is good. The cook doesn’t look all that happy, scowling at each plate he dresses. But she can’t deny it’s delicious – he may not be Graced, but he’d give some of the Graceling chefs in Sanctum’s kitchen a run for their money.

Their server is more interesting. She’s a lithe, dark-haired woman, who seems to be the only one who can draw a smile from the cook. She has a permanent-looking wrapping around her hand, but it doesn’t seem to stop her skills in delivering food and drinks with grace and speed. There’s a cloth tied around one eye too, with a unique face tattoo emerging from it. Clarke would bet anything that the eye underneath was not same colour brown of the other.

She seems interested in them too, but not in the usual way. Often, when they stop at inns, the crowds avoid their table, the servers mumble and do everything as quickly as possible to get away from Clarke’s eyes. But this lady’s gaze doesn’t seem to leave their table. Whenever Clarke looks up, she’s looking in their general direction, and Clarke’s sure that the server is watching them.

She’s proved right when there’s a lull in the crowd, and the server comes over, busying herself with collecting their used tankards. But instead of silence, she whispers.

‘The Lady Griffin, I assume?’

Clarke has many titles, and that’s one of the nicest of them. She resents Princess, hates _Wanheda_, rebukes assassin. But Lady was what she was before she was Graced, when she still had her mother and father.

Kane raises an eyebrow. ‘Yes. And the pleasure is ours…?’

‘Emori,’ the woman answers. ‘And the excellent cook is my husband, John Murphy.’

‘I see. And we have this introduction because…?’

Emori leans closer, seemingly wiping at a stain on the table. ‘We have seeds for the garden?’

It’s probably unnecessary that they’re so careful with talking about Eden. But it does make a swell of pride rise in Clarke, to know that their mission is passed around in whispers, and that people are respecting the need to keep it secret.

Gabriel speaks now. ‘Excellent. We’ve been meaning to grow one near the border.’

The woman smiles. ‘I’ll bring those coffees up to your room like you asked, m’Lords. My lady,’ she adds as an afterthought, and Clarke has to smile.

‘That sounds great.’ Clarke’s voice is quiet, but it draws a small smile from Emori. She meets Clarke’s eyes – gods, that was really becoming more regular, it was unsettling – and blushes. She doesn’t say anything else but nods quickly and scurries away.

Gabriel chuckles. ‘I think she was a fan.’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘Don’t be stupid. I don’t have fans. I have people who fear me.’

But her friend just shakes his head right back at her. ‘You may be _Wanheda_, but the word of Eden is spreading. And people know that it’s yours. It may be under the surface, but the people are beginning to see you’re more than just the princess assassin.’

It’s such a nice sentiment that Clarke can’t quite speak for a second. Kane smiles too. ‘He’s right, Lady Clarke. Eden is doing well.’

Clarke ducks her head. ‘Well, we’ll just have to see. It could all come crashing down at any moment, if we don’t stay careful. She sighs. ‘Let’s just go up to the rooms.’

They do so, and not long after, there’s a knock at the door. Emori and the cook are waiting outside, looking nervous.

‘Come in,’ Clarke invites, and they enter, looking around carefully. Kane and Gabriel are already sitting at a small round table, which has two more chairs. Clarke settles herself off to the side.

‘Emori and John is it?’ Kane asks.

‘Murphy is fine,’ the cook grumbles. He doesn’t look all that enthusiastic to be there.

But Kane just nods, and gestures for them to sit down. ‘I assume you know us already but let me introduce ourselves anyway. I am Marcus Kane, spymaster for Sanctum. This is Lord Gabriel Santiago, owner of the estate to the north of our capital. And of course, this is the Princess Clarke Griffin.’

‘Lady,’ Clarke corrects, but nods anyway.

‘However, you are not here for our official positions. You are here because of Eden?’

Emori and Murphy exchange a look. ‘Yes,’ Emori says. ‘We heard about it from a friend, and we wanted to offer our services.’

‘What friend?’

The woman swallows, looking nervous. ‘Uh, the Lady Harper McIntyre? I believe she is a friend of your gardener, Monty Green?’

Immediately, Clarke’s nerves fade. She knows of Harper, and she trusts Monty with her life. ‘We know the lady,’ she tells Kane and Gabriel, and nods again, just once, to signal her initial trust.

Kane looks satisfied. ‘Excellent. We would be glad to have your help in our endeavour. What can you offer us?’

Murphy speaks up now. ‘Our inn is in a good location. We can be a stopping point for your…missions. Or whatever. Nearly halfway between the palace and the border of Eligius.’

Gabriel smiles. ‘Yes, it’s proved helpful to us today. So you’re offering us a safehouse?’

Emori nods. ‘Yes, that and…’ she glances at her husband, and he gives a tiny nod. She reaches up and unties the cloth hiding an eye. While the visible one had been a chocolate brown, the other is a soft hazel, almost yellow. Cat-like. ‘I have skills.’

She seems to be watching for their reactions, but she gets none. Kane and Gabriel have worked with Clarke long enough not to blink at Graceling eyes.

‘And what is your Grace?’

Emori bites her lip. ‘It sounds bad, at first. But it comes with a combination of things. My Grace is thieving.’

Kane raises a single eyebrow. ‘Thieving?’

‘But more than that. I’m excellent at finding things. Scavenging. Both goods and information. And I don’t have the urge to take unless I need to. I’m not a kleptomaniac. But I am very quiet. Sneaky.’

Now that Clarke looks at her, she can see it. She notices that the shoes Emori wears have soft soles, and there are no bangles or jewellery hanging from her person like many women in these parts.

To her relief, Kane seems to come to the same conclusion. ‘That could be very useful to us indeed. But before anything, I must ask you. Why is it that you want to help Eden? I can see that you’ve done well for yourselves. Why help us?’

Murphy grimaces. ‘We were survivors, for a while. Looked out for ourselves.’

‘But we had people who helped us,’ Emori puts in. ‘Neither of us come from wealthy backgrounds. But we’ve seen the work Eden has done. It’s improved people’s lives. And now that we’re comfortable…well. We can give back.’

Clarke can barely keep herself from smiling. This woman has put into words the exact sentiment she was reaching for when she started their little movement.

Gabriel smiles too. ‘I think you are worthy additions to Eden, my friends.’ He holds out a hand. ‘Welcome to the Council.’

Murphy looks reluctant to shake a his hand, perhaps because he was a Lord, but Emori elbows him, and he reluctantly takes it, much to Clarke’s amusement.

‘Is there anything else we can help you with? Now that you are a part of our alliance, you can count on increased trade, some resources we can spare. Anything come to mind?

Emori hesitates. ‘Not at the moment. But there’s another thing we can offer.’

‘Oh?’

‘Our inn, as we mentioned before, is in an excellent position. We have people passing through from Sanctum and Eligius, even Azgeda on occasion. And we’re on the best route to the northern most seaport, so we also get news from Trigeda, Mount Weather, even Polaris and Arcadia on occasion. John and I are excellent at listening, if you get my meaning. We can be a valuable source of news.’

Kane nods thoughtfully. ‘That does sound beneficial. We’ve yet to set up an extensive network of information gatherers, just informal ones with our friends and my current employees. But there’s no time like the present.’ He smiles. ‘Do you have any current information?’

Murphy smirks. ‘Some interesting things. We got news earlier today that there’s been a great treasure stolen from Mount Weather.’ The cook has a keen glint in his eye, Clarke would bet anything he suspects they were involved.

Gabriel keeps his voice entirely neutral. ‘Oh? Any details?’

‘Only that someone invaded the tunnels, took out the entire guardforce, and stole away with Dante’s “treasure”.’ His eyes flick to Clarke. ‘Some are saying it was a Graceling boy, perhaps one who can cause sickness.’

Internally, Clarke sniggers. Raven may not be officially a Graceling, but between her and Monty, their power over medicine and chemicals was insurmountable.

‘Others say it was a fighter. And they found one too, at the scene. But he was also knocked out, so apparently he wasn’t a suspect for long. Long enough for the real thieves to get away though.’

‘A Graceling fighter?’ Clarke inquires, keeping her voice even. ‘Where from?’

Murphy shrugs. ‘Didn’t say. He’s been released, apparently, but the merchants said that Prince Cage was especially angry.’

That was interesting, although not surprising. It made sense the Wallaces couldn’t tell anyone the Graceling was from Arcadia, not when they didn’t want anyone to suspect it was them keeping the Arcadian prince prisoner. And Clarke had long suspected that Prince Cage was the true brains and spine behind his father.

‘Interesting indeed,’ Gabriel concludes. ‘We thank you. Anything else?’

Emori shrugs. ‘Not much. Just idle gossip. Apparently in Polaris, Princess Luna has locked her and her little sister away in their rooms out of grief for the missing prince.’

Clarke frowned. Now that was strange. Princess Luna was an Arcadian noble who’d become the heir to Polaris a few years ago, chosen personally by the Queen. All news had said the new princess was peaceful, kind, and practical. Not the sort of girl who locked herself away. Queen Alie had supposedly chosen her for her courage, cleverness, and determination.

Kane hums. ‘I suppose that Prince Wells was formerly her betrothed. Perhaps there was a romantic attachment, in addition to a political one, before she left for the City of Light.’

Oh. Clarke had forgotten about that. She couldn’t say she kept up on the little news they received on Arcadian politics.

‘A strange way to grieve, though. To include her sister in it.’ Kane nods, agreeing, but doesn’t seem to look too perturbed. ‘Arcadians have different customs.’

‘Queen Alie is being very patient about it,’ Emori concludes. ‘She’s quite the compassionate ruler.’

They all nod, satisfied. That was true. 

Emori and Murphy fill Gabriel and Kane on some more things they’d heard, but Clarke’s mind drifts. She doesn’t really understand the sort of grieving Princess Luna was doing, but if it eased her mind, perhaps Clarke should find a way to relay a message. They would have to hide Wells until they discovered why he was taken, but he would be safe. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to let his former betrothed know?

Before she knows it, their business with the couple is concluded, new allies aboard. It makes Clarke glad they stopped here, after all. Tomorrow, she determines, before she tells herself to sleep. Tomorrow she would get to talk to the prince and solve this mystery.

*

As much as she has terrible memories of Sanctum, Clarke’s glad to finally gallop through the gates. It may be a place of pain for her, but it’s still home.

To her surprise, Raven is waiting in the yard for them. She doesn’t usually emerge from her workrooms, and she likes to avoid the King and Queen as much as possible. She was Josephine’s cousin on her father’s side, twice removed, but had gained a position at the castle due to her prodigious smithing and medicinal skills, despite not being Graced. And technically, she was the heir after Clarke.

Clarke’s plan was to let Raven rule, after she abdicated. Sanctum needed a leader that would take them into a new age.

‘How’d it go?’ Raven asks as Clarke vaults off her horse. Gabriel and Kane lead the three horses away, muttering to each other.

‘Fine. Russell gets his money. We were stopped by a storm on the way home, but we found some new plants for your garden.’

‘Oh?’ Raven walks beside her as they venture further into the yard. Clarke doesn’t slow, even though she can see that Raven’s leg is paining her, because she knows that would just piss her friend off.

‘Yes, at an inn. Nice uh…flowers.’

Raven nods. Then leans in. ‘One of those ‘flowers’ a treasure stolen from Mount Weather?’

Clarke glances at her, surprised. ‘Yes. How’d you know?’

‘Turns out we have their initial suspect staying with us now.’

‘What? The Graceling?’

Raven smirks. She definitely knows Clarke didn’t tell her something about that night. ‘Yes. He’s actually a prince.’

Clarke frowns even deeper. ‘The prince? But…’

‘There’s more than one Arcadian prince, Clarke. Wells is King Thelonious’s only son, but the king remarried a while ago, after his first wife died. The new queen already had two kids. Technically, they’re Prince and Princess too.’

She tries not to look too interested. ‘And one of them is a Graceling?’

Raven smiles like a shark. ‘Yes. He’s the one here. Prince Bellamy Blake. And guess what? He’s here to find his brother.’

Clarke gapes.

‘You didn’t…?’

Raven rolls her eyes. ‘No, dummy. Of course I waited for you. This is Eden business, and we have to wait to see if we trust this princeling.’

‘Okay.’ Clarke breathes deeply. ‘Okay, that’s fine. I’ll see him after this.’

‘Lady Princess!’

A steward runs up to them, nodding his head respectfully to Clarke, but avoiding her eyes. He looks at Raven while he speaks, instead.

‘The King asks after your business in Eligius.’

Clarke sighs. ‘Tell him all’s well. Kane and Lord Santiago should have the coin.’

He doesn’t leave, shuffling from side to side.

‘Is there something else, Myles?’

The steward looks terrified that she knows his name. ‘Oh! Sorry, Lady Princess. Only that the King requests your presence at dinner tonight.’

Clarke sighs again. ‘Not like I can say no. Yes, I’ll be there.’ She tries a small smile. ‘Thank you, Myles.’

He doesn’t seem to appreciate it, only giving her a terrified bow before scurrying off. Clarke throws her hands up while Raven snickers.

‘Why do I even bother?’

‘I find it cute, Griffin. That you still try.’

She begins walking back to her rooms, giving a wave over her shoulder.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Clarke calls after her. ‘See if I ever smile at you again, Raven.’

Her friend laughs. ‘Come to my rooms for a decent dress, Lady Princess.’ She leaves the yard and Clarke grimaces. She hates the dinners, hates dressing up in her _Wanheda_ garb. But her uncle would insist and be angry if she didn’t. There wasn’t anything for it.

She turns to make her way to her own rooms when a presence on a balcony above shifts in the corner of her eye. Clarke looks up, and then sees him.

Immediately, she’s caught in his gaze. It’s intense, curious, but that isn’t what traps her. The dark brown and bright gold seem to glow like lights from his face, and she’s taken aback. And what she hadn’t seen in the darkness of the Mount Weather tunnels, despite her excellent vision, was his beauty.

His black curly hair is tousled, artfully, like he’s just rolled out of bed. He’s tall, but not a giant, with a lean, muscled figure. And Clarke sees now in the sunlight that more than just a few freckles adorn his face. But they don’t make him look juvenile. If anything, they add to the entire golden _presence _he is against the dull stones of the castle. It’s like someone has carved a statue out of gold and breathed life into him.

If he notices her breathless assessment, he doesn’t say. He just gives her a sly smirk, lifting a hand to salute her. ‘Nice to meet you, Princess,’ he calls down to her.

Not that she had any doubt he was the same Graceling she knocked out in the tunnels, but his voice just confirms it. Deep, rumbling almost, but not quite hoarse.

Clarke frowns up at him. She has no idea what to do with this, not at the moment. She has a dinner to attend, an uncle to placate. This Graceling prince can wait.

‘You too, Prince Bellamy.’ she calls back. It’s not actually appropriate for their first greeting to be like this – they should be introduced formally, given their respective statuses. But they’re also Gracelings, and it’s not like any of the servants were going to admonish her.

She levels a last, suspicious look at the prince before heading inside, trying to shake off the feeling of his amused eyes following her.

*

Clarke washes up from the journey quickly. Dinner would be soon, and it always took an age for Raven to help her into a dress and put on the ridiculous _Wanheda_ make-up.

Her friend is waiting for Clarke when she steps into her dressing room after her bath, holding up Clarke’s least favourite of her dresses – it’s way too tight, and doesn’t let her move around at all. No wonder it’s Russell’s favourite. It makes her feel trapped.

Raven just smirks at Clarke’s groan. ‘Come on, Griffin. It’s only for a night.’

‘Easy for you to say. Why do you always get out of these damn things?’

‘Because you’re the heir.’

‘I won’t be,’ Clarke grumbles, but lets Raven pull the dress over her head and sit her down in front of the mirror to begin the make-up.

‘Well we haven’t revealed that particular plan to them yet.’

Clarke sighs. ‘I wish I could do it now. You know how much I hate being princess. It’s your turn.’

Raven grins. ‘Nah. It’s queen or nothing for me. You know my plan.’

Luckily, Raven’s a quick hand at the routine by now, and soon Clarke’s standing in front of her mirror, scowling at her _Wanheda_ reflection.

‘It never gets less ridiculous.’

Her friend pats her on the shoulder. ‘No. But hey, you get to meet this mysterious prince.’

‘Yeah,’ mutters Clarke. ‘Wonderful.’

When she enters the dining hall, the prince is already there, standing in his own formal, Arcadian dress. It’s interesting – less elaborate than the fashion of the five kingdoms. It seems that Arcadians preferred to decorate their fingers, rather than their clothes.

Russell smiles genially when Clarke enters, but she avoids his eyes. She hates the poison seeped underneath. ‘Ah, our Princess. Time for introductions. Prince Bellamy Blake of Arcadia, this is the Lady Princess Clarke Griffin of Sanctum, our _Wanheda_.’

Clarke curtsies, dropping into the perfect pose that’s been drummed into her since childhood. The prince bows back, but Clarke’s amused to find it…off. Like he doesn’t do it often, or he’s out of practice. It reminds her of how Raven curtsies – her friend had arrived at court when they were thirteen, and she still wasn’t used to the formal greetings.

But the prince’s bow is passable, and it’s not like she cares anyway. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Princess.’

‘Lady Princess.’ A voice from behind them says quietly, and Clarke turns to see Gabriel, frowning slightly at Prince Bellamy.

‘My apologies, Lady Princess,’ the prince corrects himself. But he doesn’t seem sorry. He gives Clarke a wry look. She can’t say she blames him – formal titles were stupid, and even if she preferred her Lady title, just one sufficed.

‘It’s no issue,’ she replies. ‘A pleasure to meet you too, Prince Bellamy.’ Bellamy. It really is a pretty name, she thinks. She’s heard it on girls before, never men. But she finds it suits him. He’s very pretty, after all.

The prince’s mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a laugh. Then he clears his throat and turns to her aunt and uncle. ‘Shall we?’

They nod, and dinner is assembled. To Clarke’s relief, and perhaps disappointment, she isn’t seated next to the prince, but across the room from him. She’s unsure whether it would have been satisfying to talk in a crowded room anyway. Instead, Gabriel is to her right, and he leans down to whisper to her as soon as they’re seated.

‘Are you alright?’

She gives him a look. ‘Fine.’

Dinner is the usual affair. Simone and Russell entertain guests, and don’t speak to Clarke. They don’t even speak to the prince very often – he may be royal, but he’s still quite clearly a Graceling. Clarke ignores Gabriel for the most part, but she ends up finding it difficult to ignore the man across the room, even when he’s nowhere near her. Whenever she looks up, his eyes meet hers and catch her in his gaze. It’s not like she wholly minds – his one brown and one gold eye make for a strange pair, but they’re really quite beautiful. Enchanting, even. They offset each other in a lovely way that Clarke can’t seem to tear her eyes from.

No, what bothers her is the feeling behind them. There’s amusement and arrogance there, for certain, but also intense curiosity, and a guardedness that she usually only associates with herself. He certainly wants to ask her where his brother is, she’s sure of that. What she’s not sure of is whether she can trust him.

Russell’s voice cuts through her daydreaming, and he’s not even announcing anything. It’s just that her ears are attuned to hearing when she’s being referenced in other conversations, and she can’t help but listen in as he talks to his favourite lord, Ryker.

‘Oh yes, she’s a magnificent asset to us. She may be our Princess,’ he says the word in a dripping, derisive tone. ‘But most of all she’s our assassin. Our killer. Where would we be without her?’

Clarke finds herself gripping her fork tightly, willing herself to stay calm. She’s usually good at it, but there’s always something about the way her uncle talks about her that puts her on the very edge.

She works on taking calm breaths, but when she finally trusts herself to look up, she finds herself yet again breathtaken by the prince’s eyes.

For some reason, it just makes her angrier. That he can make her feel these strong emotions, just by looking at him, just by noticing his arrogant smirk and the glimmer of his eyes.

‘Clarke? Are you okay? You look a little flushed.’

Gabriel is frowning at her, in that infuriating way of his. Suddenly the air in the dining hall is too stifling. ‘Please excuse me,’ Clarke says to him, grimacing. ‘I’m afraid I need some air.’

He offers to accompany her, but she waves him off, and chooses a time when she sees her uncle is occupied in conversation to slip out, craving the open sky. She feels the pair of eyes belonging to the prince follow her, but she makes it out the door with no interruptions.

Once she’s free, she finds herself running. She kicks off the stupid tight slippers, hikes up her dress, and just runs. She hates it, hates it all. The snivelling lords, her terrible family, her _Wanheda_ outfits. She supposes it says a lot about her that she finds a few harmless dinners more unpalatable than attacking people.

Soon, she reaches the fountain outside the practice yards, which she’s run to unconsciously. She reaches in without thinking, splashing the water on her face and rubbing what kohl and blush she can from her eyes and cheeks. If she was to be a killer, she still wanted to be herself.

She knows now, why her feet have run her here.

The practice yard is where she can clear her head and feel most like herself. Exercise her Grace and ignore the whirring thoughts in her head without having to harm anyone. She finds herself walking to the gun range, and carefully lights the torches behind the targets so she can see them. She could shoot without them, but she doesn’t feel like straining her eyes needlessly tonight.

It feels like coming home, weighing her gun in hand as she lifts it from its case and clicking the ammunition in. Her arm is stiffened, however, by the cursed dress she’s wearing. She looks around, surreptitiously, as if anyone would be out in the yard at this time of night.

There’s no one, and with a satisfied smile, Clarke draws a dagger and rips a slit down the bodice.

Thank the gods. Now she can breathe. She grips the pistol again and suddenly she’s focused. She squeezes and shoots five shots in as many breaths, focusing on elbows, knees, shoulders, hips. In and out, the _thwip _of each bullet ripping their holes in the dummies calms her.

Disarming, not killing.

And to her alarm, she’s so engrossed that she doesn’t even notice him step up behind her.

‘Never shoot to kill, Princess?’

Clarke doesn’t let herself jump, even though he definitely startled her. But he doesn’t have to know that. Instead, she turns to look directly at him as she fires off two shots.

One goes into the target dummy’s head, one into its crotch.

‘Fair enough,’ the prince says dryly, and comes up to lean on the fence in front of them, glancing at Clarke. ‘We should have a competition some time.’

Clarke lowers her gun. ‘Are you Graced with shooting, as well as fighting?’

The prince cocks his head, thinking. ‘I’m better at hand-to-hand fighting. But my aim is much better than average.’

‘Graces are different for everyone, I suppose,’ Clarke offers. He hums.

‘And yours is killing. Is that right?’

Clarke sighs. ‘Yes.’ She doesn’t want to offer him anymore.

‘You seem good at things other than killing.’

‘You’re good at things other than fighting.’

The prince snorts. ‘I suppose so. But I think those things just lend to my fighting Grace.’

‘As mine lend to my Grace in murder.’ Clarke replies flatly. He doesn’t seem bothered by her rude tone though, just regards her with those strange, hypnotic eyes.

There’s a silence, and Clarke raises her gun again, aims more carefully this time. It’s one thing to be fast, but her technique was often sloppy.

‘You did not murder me, in the tunnels.’

Clarke fires, squints after the bullet. A few inches off where she wanted it. She sighs.

‘You said then that you trusted me. Do you still?’

Another bullet goes flying. He doesn’t watch it. ‘Yes.’

‘Why, when I knocked you out?’

He smirks. ‘Because I woke up. And without disease ridden skin. We’re basically friends.’

Clarke allows the tiniest smirk of her own. ‘You’re welcome. But we’re not friends.’

The prince snorts. ‘Hmm. What were you doing in those tunnels, though? You never did answer my question.’

‘What were _you _doing there?’ Clarke shoots back. He doesn’t seem impressed.

‘Prince Cage had some ideas as to why.’

‘Because you were a Graceling, and a Graceling knocked the guards out?’

He shakes his head. ‘No. Because I’m Arcadian.’ His gaze doesn’t leave her face; she can sense it burning into her cheek. ‘Any idea why that would interest them?’

Clarke misses her next target, and curses to herself. She shouldn’t let his eyes distract her, no matter how pretty they were.

‘No.’ Clarke lies. But he’s not at all convinced. He just continues to stare her down. She bites her lip, wondering what on earth to say to him. It’s clear that he knows exactly what they stole that night. But can she trust him? Or would that end up putting Prince Wells’ life back at risk? For all she knew, they were in a feud, and this prince wanted him dead.

‘I did not steal anything that wasn’t already stolen,’ she says finally.

The prince worried his lip. ‘And did you steal it for yourself?’

Clarke frowns. ‘No. For a friend.’

He grins. ‘So you admit that we’re friends?’ His smile is full this time, not just a lazy smirk. It lights up his face like sunshine. Clarke tries not to be taken in by it, but it’s an effort.

She ends up putting the gun down, walking out to the dummies to examine more closely her shots. Looking back at the man staring her down from the range, she has a spur of the moment idea.

Clarke wants to regard this prince when he can’t see her. He seems emotional, yet careful. She walks along the back torches, extinguishing them, until the only light in the practice yard is one near him.

But to her surprise, as she walks back to him in complete darkness, his eyes fall directly on hers. Just as curious. Just as intense. Just as beautiful.

Strange. ‘Does your Grace let you see in the dark?’ She asks when she gets back to him. He frowns.

‘No. Does yours?’

Clarke hums. ‘A little.’ She goes to walk past him, but he puts a firm hand out, blocking her. There’s no longer an amused look on his face. He’s deadly serious.

‘Princess Clarke. I know you have my brother. Please let me see him.’

She swallows. She’s still so unsure. Whether she can trust him, whether revealing Eden to him would put it or Wells in danger.

‘It’s late,’ she says instead. ‘I need to return to my rooms.’

But he doesn’t acquiesce. If anything, his jaw grows tenser, his voice lowers even more, to a growl. ‘Princess,’ he grits. ‘I won’t leave until you tell me.’

When she goes to move past him again, he stands in front of her. He’s bigger than her, to be sure. Many more muscles. And he’s strong, she knows. From when they fought.

But she’s fast.

She ducks, feinting to the left but spinning to the right, meaning to put him off balance. But he doesn’t fall for it, like any other fighter would. He grabs her wrist tightly, pulling her back towards him, but she twists out of his grasp and strikes out.

In a matter of moments, they’re grappling, her tackling him to the ground, him trying to pull her arms behind her. It’s the hardest she’s ever had to fight since Josephine. It’s a _challenge_. She’s quicker, ducking around his blows easily. But he’s stronger, his grapples much harder to escape. And he seems to predict her every move, and Clarke finds herself moving faster, remembering moves she’s only dreamt about, manoeuvring her body to avoid his much more deadly hits.

They’ve been fighting for minutes before she notices an odd sound coming from both of them, and another minute goes by where he grabs her by the neck and she pulls him down by the hair, before she realises what it is.

Laughter.

They’re both positively gasping with it. And she knows why. Because finally, she’s actually fighting. Finally, she’s met someone she can’t kill with her pinky. Finally, there’s someone who can land a hit on her. She loves it.

The prince twists her around and pins her wrists together, pressing her into the ground. ‘Surrender, Princess.’ But he’s chuckling as he says it.

Clarke just snorts and shakes her head, using her legs to flip them over and reverse pin him instead. ‘No. You surrender. You’re beaten. Just admit it.’

He huffs, sighing into the dirt. ‘Fine. Let me up.’

She does so, watching him carefully as he wipes blood and dirt off his face. He frowns. ‘Shit. I hit you with my ring.’

‘Hm?’ But then she feels it. Blood dripping down her cheek. She wipes it off, smirking. No one’s ever drawn blood from her before.

When she looks back at him, however, the humour has dropped from his face. His expression is sombre, pleading. ‘Please, Lady Clarke. I want to see my brother. Please take me to him.’

Clarke regards him for a second. His eyes are steady on hers, and they betray so much of his feelings. Desperation. Hope. She finds it hard to believe anyone could fake that with their eyes.

And with that, she makes a choice.

She decides to trust him.

‘Okay,’ she says heavily. ‘I’ll take you to Wells.’ She goes to help him up, but he shakes his head, climbing to his feet himself. She just nods for him to follow and they walk in step out of the practice yard. She can feel him almost vibrating with intensity. He has so much energy, this prince. So much emotion.

Clarke doesn’t have many people she cares about. Not any she regards as a sibling. But she would guess she’d act the same way if Raven was in the same danger.

‘Your brother,’ she says. ‘You care about him. But you’re not really brothers?’

His jaw works, eyes flashing. ‘He’s my brother in name, if not by blood. And we grew up together. He’s as close to a brother to me as anyone could be.’

Clarke nods. ‘I understand.’

They walk in silence until they reach another door. He opens it for her, gesturing for her to go first, and somehow Clarke knows he’s not being chivalrous. This just seems like the sort of thing he’d do for anyone, even his enemies. Putting them first.

‘Thanks, Prince Bellamy,’ she says, sort of sarcastically, but also sort of not.

He rolls his eyes. ‘Can we leave off the titles? Just Bellamy is fine.’

She gives him a keen look. ‘Is that an Arcadian thing?’

The prince raises an eyebrow. ‘Is what an Arcadian thing?’

‘Your brother said to drop the title too. “Just Wells.”’

He smiles, just a little bit. ‘Maybe a bit of both. Arcadians are a little less obsessed with the royals above everyone else thing,’ he says dryly. ‘But I didn’t grow up noble, and Wells is down to earth. He doesn’t care about all that stuff.’

Clarke nods, musing. Interesting people, these Arcadians.

They finally reach Raven’s door and Clarke knocks, before turning to Bellamy. ‘You can drop Princess with me too, you know. And Lady. Just Clarke is fine.’

As the door opens, he smiles wryly. ‘Good to know, Princess.’

Before she can reply, the door swings open, and Raven is standing on the other side. Her eyebrows shoot up when she sees them. That’s when Clarke realises what she looks like – in a word, bedraggled. Her dress is muddy, ripped, completely ruined. She has dirt all over her face, not to mention the kohl and make-up that didn’t fully wash off in the fountain. And she has blood streaked down her cheek, from where the cut has started to seep again.

Raven opens her mouth, closes it. Then just steps aside wordlessly, shaking her head.

‘Thank you,’ Bellamy murmurs as he passes. Clarke collapses on Raven’s work chair.

‘So,’ Raven says. ‘I assume you guys are okay if you showed up here together?’

Clarke has to smile, just a little. ‘We’re fine,’ she says. ‘Or at least I am.’

‘Feel like I’ve been trampled by a horse,’ Bellamy rolls his eyes. ‘But at least I got a few good hits in.’

Raven’s eyebrows rise again. ‘You got a hit in on her?’

‘Don’t worry, I won,’ Clarke smirks.

Her friend shakes her head. ‘Don’t think I was worried. But anyway. Why are you here? You could clean that up by yourselves.’

Clarke wipes away the blood again. ‘Yeah of course. But Bellamy’s here to see his brother.’

Raven looks at her for a long minute, then nods. ‘Okay. I can take you to him.’

‘That’s it?’ Bellamy looks surprised. ‘You trust me?’

‘If you just fought with Clarke but she still came here and asked me to bring you to him,’ she shrugs, ‘that means she trusts you. That means I trust you.’

Bellamy nods slowly. ‘Okay. Where is he?’

‘Well-hidden.’ Raven walks to the back of her rooms and lifts a tapestry, then presses a brick down. It gives way, and a door reveals itself and swings outwards. ‘After you,’ she gestures.

‘Hope you’re not bringing me down here to murder me,’ Bellamy comments wryly. ‘Just warning you, I will be missed.’

‘Sure you would, Princeling,’ Raven snarks. She waves Clarke through next, and they traverse one of the many dank, hidden corridors of the Sanctum palace, luckily unknown to Clarke’s aunt and uncle.

Eventually they emerge in a small, candle-lit room. It has no windows, but it’s decorated with wall hangings and some plants droop in the corner. There are two figures, one lying on a bed, and one at a small desk in the corner, who looks up as they enter.

‘Oh! Hi?’

‘Hi, Monty,’ Clarke greets, and his eyes bug out as he takes her in. ‘Clarke! You look…battered.’

‘Not as much as he is,’ Clarke grins. She loves Monty. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘This is Prince Bellamy of Arcadia. Bellamy, this is Monty, our gardener and uh…herbalist.’

Monty jumps up and shakes Bellamy’s hand, much to the latter’s bemusement. ‘Basically, Raven and I have a mad workshop down here where we make medicines and help out Clarke and the rest.’

If Bellamy’s confused, he doesn’t show it, just nods. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He turns his head to the corner. ‘Is that Wells?’

Monty bites his lip. ‘Yes, he’s been stirring a little. If we’re lucky, he might wake up.’

Bellamy strides over to the corner and squats down near the bed, putting his hand on the figure’s shoulder. ‘Wells?’

The prince in the bed stirs, blearily opens his eyes. But when his gaze registers Bellamy, they shoot open. ‘Bellamy?’ He says incredulously, voice hoarse from sleep.

‘Hey, brother,’ Bellamy says.

Wells shakes his head. ‘Should have known you’d come after me. Idiot.’

Bellamy rolls his eyes, glancing back at Clarke. ‘Grateful, isn’t he?’

Clarke approaches the bed too. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired,’ Wells admits. His eyes focus on Clarke. ‘I think I have you to thank for rescuing me, huh?’

She shrugs. ‘Monty and Raven will probably help more with the medicine,’ she says. But Wells smiles.

‘I remember you hauling me up those steps.’ He sobers. ‘Thanks for getting me out of there. Not sure how much longer I would have lasted.’

Clarke grimaces. ‘I’m glad we could help.’ She twists her hands together. ‘Do you know what happened? Why you were taken? How?’

Wells sighs. ‘Sorry, but I don’t remember much. I was blindfolded, knocked out.’ He screws up his face. ‘Went across the ocean, obviously. Bumped around in a cart for a while. And then just that horrible cell.’

Bellamy’s jaw works. ‘This is why you need to learn how to fight.’

His brother rolls his eyes. ‘Yes, I’m well aware of yours and Octavia’s campaign to put a gun in my hand. But I was in bed, Bellamy. I would have had no chance.’

‘Yeah, well,’ grumbles Bellamy. ‘Still wouldn’t hurt.’

Wells pats his arm. ‘Not everyone can have your Grace.’ His eyes narrow suddenly, taking in the dirt, scuffs, and bruises already forming on Bellamy’s face. Clarke winces. ‘Looks like you might have met your match, though? Not even Octavia has beaten you up this much. Or Luna.’

To her surprise, Bellamy grins again. ‘More than my match.’ He glances back at Clarke. ‘She’d beat me any day.’

Clarke huffs. ‘No one’s ever fought me like you,’ she tells him. ‘You’re much more of an opponent than you’d think.’

Bellamy shrugs. ‘If you say so, Princess.’ Clarke rolls her eyes. So he really wasn’t going to stop calling her that.

Wells looks like he’s enjoying their conversation, but his eyes are drooping already. ‘Bit tired, sorry. These drugs are long lasting, huh?’

‘Yes,’ pipes up Raven from the back of the room. ‘We’re still trying to find something that will counteract them, get it out of your system faster.’ Her eyes flick to Clarke. ‘Meanwhile, I think we should call a meeting.’

Clarke finds herself nodding. ‘We should get everyone up to date on the situation. And get Bellamy’s input.’ She trusts him now, despite herself. And if they wanted to know who was really behind Wells’ kidnapping, his knowledge of Arcadia and physical skills would be valuable.

Bellamy’s eyes glitter on hers for a second, intense. But then he cocks his head. ‘Meeting?’

It’s weird, to find herself slightly shy. ‘Yeah. We have a sort of…secret organisation we’re running in the five kingdoms. It’s called Eden.’ Clarke smiles. ‘You have us to thank for finding out where he was being held.’

He considers her for a moment, looking like he’s about to argue, then just shakes his head ruefully. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t have been easy to get him out of there by myself. So I’m coming to this meeting?’

Clarke nods. ‘Yes, if you’d like. They’ll be held in my rooms. We’ll send a servant to direct you.’

‘Sounds good,’ Bellamy says. He looks back down to his brother, but Wells is fast asleep. He pauses, then shakes his head.

‘Thank you,’ he croaks. ‘For caring.’

Clarke finds herself choking back a bit. Again, so much emotion. ‘It’s no problem,’ she says, fighting to keep her voice stable. He looks back up at her, meeting her stare with his own. Once again, she feels captured by him.

‘Alright,’ he says gruffly. ‘I should go clean up.’

‘I’ll show you out,’ Monty offers, and the two of them exit the crowded room.

Clarke looks back down at the prince in the bed and sighs, thinking. It’s a risk to trust Bellamy, but she’s sure her instincts are right about this. She looks back up to find Raven assessing her with that analytical gaze of hers.

‘What?’

Raven smiles, grins, even. She shakes her head. ‘For the first time ever, Clarke,’ she laughs. ‘You look like you’ve been in a fight.’

*

Meetings for Eden were held in Clarke’s chambers, mainly because she had way too many rooms and needed a use for one of them, but also because, as Raven would say, Eden was hers. As much as Clarke tried to insist it was a group effort, she couldn’t deny the initial idea had been her own.

And anyway. Clarke’s chambers were the safest, because the servants tended to avoid them, if they could. Sometimes Clarke’s reputation was useful to her.

She has some time to kill after she washes and changes into something cleaner and more comfortable. Midnight isn’t for an hour more. She finds herself examining the scratch on her face by candlelight in the mirror, sort of intrigued. It doesn’t hurt at all. It’s just funny, really. No one’s ever landed a scratch on her. Not physically, anyway. Not with a blade, or by accident with a sharp ring.

Soon the members of Eden begin to trickle in, and she busies herself with setting up enough seats around the large circular wooden table she has in one of the rooms she doesn’t use.

Bellamy arrives just a touch before midnight, giving her a nod from across the room before engaging in conversation with Kane.

Soon, they’re all around the room, talking. Except Gabriel. Clarke frowns – he’s usually a bit more prompt. But before she can wonder for long, he enters, huffing an apology. Almost before he can finish it, however, he’s frowning at her face.

‘Clarke! What happened?’ He reaches a hand out, but before he touches her Clarke brushes his hand aside.

‘It’s nothing. Got into a friendly scuffle.’ Without meaning to, her eyes slide to Bellamy’s form in the corner. Unfortunately, Gabriel follows her gaze.

‘Him?’ Clarke rolls her eyes. What a time for him to get protective, like she’s ever needed it. ‘Prince Bellamy!’ He calls, striding towards him.

Across the room, Bellamy is already studying them with eyebrows slightly raised. He looks at Gabriel. ‘Yes?’

‘Where the hell do you get off fighting the Lady Princess? You’re a guest at this court!’

Clarke scoffs, stomping after him, and pulling his elbow back. ‘Enough, Gabriel. I threw the first punch. Leave him alone.’

But Gabriel just harrumphs. ‘Then he provoked you!’ He shakes Clarke’s grip off to lean forward. Bellamy just watches him, impassive. But when a hand reaches out to his chest, Bellamy doesn’t let it through. He blocks it, catching Gabriel’s finger with a fist.

‘Maybe I did,’ Bellamy says. ‘But I think the Lady can look after herself, no?’

Gabriel bristles. ‘Still I-’

‘Gabriel,’ Kane interrupts from beside Bellamy. ‘If Lady Clarke says it’s fine, it’s fine. They seem to be friends.’ His eyes scan over Clarke’s face, and he suddenly breaks into a very un-Kane-like grin. ‘I should have liked to see that fight.’

Bellamy smirks. ‘I assure you, the Princess won.’ His eyes catch Clarke’s for just a second before turning back to Gabriel, who still looks like he’s about to argue. A funny look crosses Bellamy’s face.

‘Lord Santiago, I apologise if I offended the court. Or you. Forgive me.’

Clarke felt anger build up in her chest. Asking for forgiveness? From Gabriel? He had no right.

Gabriel, on his part, seems to soften marginally. ‘Thank you,’ he says formally to Bellamy, before turning away. ‘How about we get started?’ he adds in a louder voice.

The room assembles around the table, and Clarke finds herself almost opposite the Arcadian prince. Frustration still boils within her, at the notion that he needed _Gabriel’s_ forgiveness for giving her, gods forbid, a mark while they were brawling!

But then Bellamy’s eyes find hers again, while the rest of the party settle in, scraping chairs and murmuring. And in them, she finds an apology. Somehow, without words, she understands exactly what his slight frown, pressed lips, and wince is saying to her. There’s not a trace of humour, or even arrogance. _Sorry. It was the only way to get him off my case. I did not need his forgiveness, so forgive me. _

And to her surprise, she does. Clarke’s dealt with enough male egos and hurt feelings growing up to know how Gabriel was being. She can yell at him later – it’s not Bellamy’s fault that Gabriel’s an overprotective dick. It was a relief that Bellamy understood that, honestly.

The meeting begins with Kane standing up and clearing his throat.

‘Welcome friends, old and new. As you probably know, this is a meeting of the Council of Eden, a collection of allies looking to improve things for the five western mainland kingdoms. You also probably know this movement was begun by our own Lady Princess, Clarke Griffin.’ He nods towards her. ‘Clarke has worked hard to make sure Eden runs smoothly, righteously, and for now, secretly. As usual, we ask that no information from this room leaves it, unless it is to fellow members of Eden.’

The room murmurs its agreement.

‘Excellent. We have a new ally tonight, the Prince Bellamy of Arcadia. Clarke trusts him with us, so I hope we will all trust him.’ Kane smiles at Bellamy. ‘And I hope that you can trust us, Highness. I will leave Clarke to fill you all in on the details of our latest mission.’

He sits, and Clarke stands, swallowing. She’s done this a hundred times by now, but it’s still nerve-wracking. Even more so when those shining eyes are watching her carefully.

‘Our mission to Mount Weather as discussed at our last meeting was a success. Marcus, Gabriel, and I were able to successfully rescue the Prince Wells of Arcadia on the information given to us by Maya Vie, and no suspicion has turned our way so far.

‘The Prince is currently recovering from his ordeal, but unfortunately we don’t have much more insight into why he was taken in the first place. We now have Prince Bellamy to help us figure it out. I suggest,’ she adds, directing her next words at him, ‘that we keep Wells hidden until he both recovers, and we find the true perpetrator behind this deed.’

Bellamy’s jaw jumps, his gaze turning tense upon hers. ‘What about his family? His father especially has been going out of his mind. He’s very missed. There’s a reason I’m here looking for him.’

Clarke blinks, surprised. ‘Of course. If you think you could get a coded message to them, perhaps? We don’t want his enemies knowing he’s here, is all.’ She cursed herself for not thinking of it – one look at Bellamy’s worry for his brother should have reminded her.

He relaxes though, nodding. ‘I can easily do that. Thank you, it would put them at rest.’ He pauses. ‘And I assure you. They are smart enough to not reveal their relief. I just want to put their hearts at ease.’

Clarke’s own heart warmed at the sentiment behind his words. That he cared excessively for his family was clear. He’d crossed an ocean for this.

She clears her throat. ‘Of course. Now, the best thing we can do in the meantime for Wells is figure out who was behind this.’

Riley pipes up now, a noble Clarke had known since she was young. ‘Wait. I thought we figured out who had him? Was it not King Dante?’

Kane shakes his head. ‘It was the Wallaces who held him, but I very much doubt they did it by their own whim. We’ve suspected for a while that Prince Cage was the one behind their schemes, and it was probably he who was behind their part of the deal. But we also know what the Wallaces want most.’

‘Money,’ Clarke says.

‘Exactly. Mount Weather is too sparse to want or be able to invade others or expand, let alone to Arcadia.’

Bellamy snorts. ‘We have the greatest navy of all the kingdoms, and Arcadia is an island many would find impossible to attack.’ Ah there it was, the arrogance. He was lucky his looks measured up to it. Bellamy’s eyes flash to hers again, smirking. Clarke flushes.

‘Arcadia has the only navy of all the kingdoms,’ she tells him. He just shrugs. ‘The prince wasn’t taken by Mount Weather for political reasons. But that leaves us with money. And they never posted a ransom or advertised to anyone he was there. The only reason we found out is because of Maya. And even after we rescued him, they’re still positing his disappearance as a ‘great treasure’ stolen from them.’

‘It isn’t the Wallaces.’ Gabriel agrees. ‘That means someone paid them. But who?’

Kane sighs. ‘It wasn’t Russell or Simone, that’s all I know.’

An attention-grabbing cough cuts through, and a woman leans forward from where she was sat back in the shadows. Ah. Echo.

Clarke doesn’t like the woman. She’s from Azgeda, and she’s a trusted spy for Queen Nia. But Prince Roan had vouched for her loyalty to him, and despite herself she trusted his judgement. Roan had proved himself in the past.

Echo’s eyes linger on Bellamy, Clarke notices. They nearly never leave him, even as she speaks to all of them. ‘I’m not sure about all the kingdoms,’ she says in a husky voice. ‘But you can rule out Azgeda. Nia does everything for a reason, and there would be no reason for this. Azgeda is just about the furthest kingdom from Arcadia, and we also do not get along with Mount Weather.’

To her surprise, Bellamy nods at her words. ‘I doubt it’s Azgeda,’ he says. ‘Mount Weather and here were not the first kingdoms I searched for Wells. No offense,’ he remarks to Echo, and she just smiles widely. ‘Azgeda had the reputation among you all for the most lawless.’ He shakes his head. ‘But nothing about my brother’s kidnapping makes sense for it to be Azgeda, not after asking there.’

Clarke sighs. She can’t actually argue with that logic. And Prince Roan probably would have known about his mother’s plan and told them, if it was her.

‘What about the others? Any information from them?’ Kane asks the room.

Echo smiles like a shark again. ‘I’m not as sure with this one. I apologise,’ she says to Bellamy silkily, ‘that I can’t be more certain. But I recently spent time in Diyoza’s court. Eligius aren’t noble or truthful, but they tend to chatter.’ Clarke rolls her eyes at this. It’s part of the reason she’s never warmed to Echo – she was too obviously loyal to Azgeda to be dedicated to Eden’s true cause. ‘And none of the chatter has even mentioned Arcadia, or a missing Prince. I don’t believe they even care.’

Kane nods at this again. ‘I made some enquiries with contacts when we were in Eligius. They hadn’t heard anything either. But I should have some more definitive answers soon.’

‘So where does that leave us?’ Gabriel asks.

‘Trigeda,’ Clarke found herself saying. But even as she did, she found herself doubting it. Lexa was many things, but this didn’t seem like her work. Dirty deals with Mount Weather had happened in the past, and kidnappings. But not of another kingdom’s prince. And not to do with Arcadia, who tended to be one of their more regular allies.

Bellamy is looking at her, thoughtful. ‘I checked Trigeda first,’ he says, ‘but of course, Wells was really in Mount Weather.’ He looks around the room. ‘Arcadia has a warmish relationship with their queen, but I confess I have not done much diplomacy in the past. You in this room would have a better idea than me.’

Kane looks thoughtful. ‘Trigeda is an odd kingdom. Very defensive, makes some unusual moves. I only know Queen Lexa a little, but I wouldn’t have thought she’d do this. Clarke? You knew her more than most. What do you think?’

Bellamy’s eyes jump to hers again, intense. ‘I don’t know.’ Clarke chews her lip. ‘I haven’t spoken to Lexa in many years. She has of course had deals with Mount Weather before, even if she claims to detest them. But I agree with you, Marcus.’ Clarke sighs. ‘Lexa is ruthless, but she is caring. She’s defensive, more than anything. Kidnapping Wells through the Wallaces seems below her.’ Bellamy’s eyes haven’t left hers, and Clarke finds herself nervous again. ‘But of course, she could have changed. And we should absolutely investigate.’

The room murmurs its agreement again, and Clarke finds herself staring back at Bellamy. His eyes have turned curious again. When he registers that she’s staring back, his mouth quirks up at the side, and he looks away again to Gabriel, who’s now frowning.

‘So who haven’t we ruled out? What about Arcadia, Prince Bellamy? A movement against the royals?’

Bellamy shakes his head. ‘Out of the question. We’ve had problems with the king in the past, but recent years have seen the royal family surge in popularity. Especially Wells. No one in Arcadia would lay a finger on him.’

Gabriel purses his lips. ‘How can you be sure? You’re a prince. I speak from experience – many nobles are out of touch with the general populace.’

Bellamy narrows his eyes. ‘Of course,’ he says flatly. ‘And I believe I would know better than you, Lord Gabriel. Unlike you, I was not born into the nobility. Quite the opposite in fact. I only became a prince when my mother married the king. Many of my friends are from the “general populace”, as you call them.’

Clarke can sense hostility flickering between the two men rising. Luckily, Kane intervenes. ‘I believe we can take Prince Bellamy for his word, Gabriel,’ and the latter looks suitably chastened. ‘If he says Arcadia is unlikely to have done this, I think we rule them out for now.’

‘But that’s everyone.’ Echo says. ‘Unless some lord has gone rogue from their ruler, which seems unlikely, given they wouldn’t have enough money to give to Prince Cage, or the political motive to kidnap your prince.’

There’s a confused silence as everyone processes this, until Bellamy cuts into it, frowning. ‘What about Polaris?’

Polaris? The peaceful kingdom over the mountains, ruled by a benevolent Queen who’d turned the capital into a beacon of tranquillity and acceptance?

Everyone else in the room looks as sceptical as Clarke feels.

‘Of course, it’s a possibility,’ Kane begins uncertainly.

Gabriel scoffs. ‘Polaris? Why would Queen Alie ever hurt the prince? We know that she’s compassionate, accepting, peaceful. The last kingdom looking to start a war.’

Everyone around him nods, Clarke among them. It was true. Queen Alie was absolutely _lovely_, by all accounts. The kingdom was too far away to visit diplomatically, but didn’t that mean it would be just far for her to send men to kidnap a prince? Which, again, was preposterous.

Bellamy has his brows furrowed, looking around the room, but he doesn’t say anything.

‘Look,’ Clarke finds herself telling him gently. ‘We won’t cross them off the list. But I think she’s even more unlikely than Lexa, or Echo having heard the wrong information in Azgeda and Eligius.’

‘I don’t have the wrong information,’ Echo insists, but she looks just as unconvinced about Polaris as the rest of them.

Bellamy gazes at her for a second, then slowly nods his head. ‘Okay,’ he says roughly. ‘As long as we don’t rule them out. But can we get a message to Luna? She’d want to know that he’s safe.’

‘Of course.’ Clarke assures, pleased that he’d thought of the same thing she had. Bellamy gives her a small smile, even if it’s not totally satisfied.

‘Right then,’ Kane says. ‘We need a plan of action.’

They continue to discuss what measures should be put in place, what questions should be asked and who should be trusted with what information.

‘What about you?’ Gabriel asks Bellamy towards the end of the discussion, as chatter rises in the room. His tone is less hostile than the start of the night, perhaps he had warmed to Bellamy after all. ‘Where are you going to go?’

‘I thought,’ Bellamy begins hesitantly. His eyes snap to Clarke’s. ‘That I could stay here. If the court would have me.’

‘And what would be your reason to give Russell and Simone?’ Gabriel challenges.

Bellamy smirks. ‘Well, Sanctum is a central location. I’m sure no one would begrudge me choosing it as a base for my supposed search.’ Clarke supposes he’s right, although he hasn’t given much indication of where he wanted to travel first.

‘Hmm.’

He leans back in his chair. ‘Besides. I think if the princess agrees, I wouldn’t mind getting to fight her again.’

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up. Fight her again? But she finds herself thinking about it. Fighting him once was excellent. To fight him again would be another challenge. One she’d relish.

‘You want to fight the Princess again?’ Gabriel asks, offence lacing his voice again.

Kane overhears this part among the other conversations around the table and leans over. ‘I agree with the prince. I think it would benefit you both to practice with each other.’

Clarke swings her eyes over to him. ‘Practice with each other?’

Her old mentor shrugs. ‘Why not? Are you not already an expert at all the drills you and I have devised? Are you not sick of knocking down every guard we have in a matter of seconds?’

Clarke takes back what she thought earlier. It wouldn’t just be a challenge. To fight Bellamy every day? To challenge her mind and actually be able to call up her Grace in new ways? Ones that weren’t about killing, but just finding the best way to beat him? It would be a dream.

‘What do you say, Princess?’ Bellamy smirks at her.

‘Clarke, you can’t be seriously considering…’ Gabriel tries to interrupt, but Clarke shakes her head.

‘Shut up, Gabriel.’ She looks back at Bellamy, grinning a little herself. ‘You’d better be ready for a few more beatings, Blake.’

She doesn’t know where the urge to use his last name comes from, but it suits him. Suits her, suits them. If she must be Princess, he can be a Blake.

Bellamy snorts. ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way, Princess.’

He’s teasing her, but Clarke finds she likes it. Not many people talk to her like this. Like an equal. Raven does, but often she’s talking about some scientific thing Clarke can’t quite wrap her head around. Gabriel is supposed to be her equal, but never acts like it, either leaning towards reverential or like he owns her somehow, like earlier that evening.

It’s refreshing, knowing she can talk this way to Bellamy without fearing he’ll judge her.

She stands, reaches her hand out across the table. ‘May the best Graceling win?’ Clarke arches an eyebrow.

He laughs again and stands to clasp her hand back. His hand is huge, calloused, warm. Comforting. But Clarke barely notices that, because she feels sparks zoom up her arm just from his touch. It’s disconcerting, but when she looks up to his eyes, she swears she sees a flash of his own surprise. But soon it’s replaced with the usual intensity, that gold eye especially burning into her vision. Clarke bets if she closed her eyes, she’d see that golden ring emblazoned on the back of her eyelids.

Too late, after they’ve been staring at each other for a few moments longer than necessary, he agrees to her challenge.

‘May the best Graceling win,’ he says solemnly, voice low. ‘Princess,’ he adds, after everyone else has turned away.

Clarke just shakes her head, smiling despite herself. It was going to be an interesting few weeks, that was for sure.

*

The next few weeks, Clarke’s the happiest she can remember being. She doesn’t recall much from before her parents died, and after their death Clarke’s childhood had been long etiquette lessons and sewing practices, with Josephine tormenting her. She was always scared, sad, or bored.

She isn’t that girl anymore, and she isn’t just her aunt and uncle’s assassin. She coordinates Eden missions, receives even more information from Emori and Murphy, and much to Clarke’s relief, no one seems to piss off her aunt and uncle, so she isn’t sent anywhere to carry out their dirty work.

And then there are the fights.

They’re nearly every day, although they have to take rest days now and then, because Bellamy ends up taking the brunt. She apologises profusely when she first sees the bruises and his winces as he stretches his sore muscles, but Bellamy just shakes his head.

‘If I wanted to stop, I’d stop, Princess. I can take a few bruises. Just because you never get them,’ he teases.

‘Seriously, Bellamy,’ Clarke frets. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for an injury you can’t recover from.’ That day she’d also accidentally clipped her boot on his lip, drawing blood.

He softens. ‘You’re fine, Clarke. We’ll wait a day between each fight from now on. I promise they’re just as fun for me. Are they still fun for you?’

Clarke sighs. ‘Yes. Of course they are. I may beat you, but it takes much more effort.’

‘As long as it’s a bit more,’ snorts Bellamy. He wipes blood from where it’s spilling into his mouth. Clarke determines that she won’t wear shoes anymore. There was no need for them, not in the practice yard. And besides. She didn’t want to be responsible for ruining his face. It was a good face.

‘Promise me you’ll tell me if you’re too sore to fight?’

Bellamy’s eyes are twinkling with something she can’t determine, but they become serious as they take in her concern. ‘Of course, Princess. Don’t worry. You won’t get rid of me so easily.’

They draw crowds when they fight. Gabriel comes to the first few, but obviously they’re not to his taste, because Clarke doesn’t spot him after a week. But everyone else seems to enjoy them – Raven tells her one day that some even come just for the banter they sling between themselves as they fight. It’s just another part of the fun for Clarke; it’s weird to think that they’re entertaining people with it.

The only people who never come to their fights are her aunt and uncle. Until one day, almost a month after Bellamy first arrives.

She and Bellamy are locked in a grapple on the floor, him trying to twist her wrist the wrong way so she can’t escape him, her trying to aim a kick to his neck. She’s ribbing him about his grip, getting an equal retort back about her aim and stinky feet, when she realises the yard is quieter than usual.

The crowds have left in deference to their ruler, who looks upon the scene with an arched eyebrow and unimpressed stare.

Queen Simone.

Clarke kicks out at Bellamy’s chest, winding him before she climbs on top of him and pins his hands beneath her own. It will only last for a second – Bellamy’s legs will kick her off before long. But she wants to get a good look at her aunt before she beats him.

Simone is an odd figure in Clarke’s life. She doesn’t detest her aunt as much as she does Russell – she was actually her family, after all. Her mother’s sister. But even as a child, Clarke had never been able to shake off the sensation of Simone’s callousness. She and Abby had never got along, having different opinions on how their father should have run Sanctum. It was unfortunate, Clarke had thought, that Simone was the elder sister and inherited the Queenhood, choosing to share it with her husband. But even though she was older, and the queen, Clarke knew she had been jealous of Abby’s healing skills and talent in diplomacy she never achieved – and in turn, some of that derisiveness had been passed down to Clarke.

Usually, it just meant Simone ignored her or chastised her. Except for the day she decided to raise Clarke to her role as Princess, with the caveat that she would also be _Wanheda_. And right now, she looked at Clarke with that same calculating gaze.

She had a job for her.

‘Aunt Simone,’ Clarke acknowledges her, receiving a sour nod in return. Bellamy uses her pause to flip them over, and it’s a few more minutes of pummelling, kicks, punches, and dragging each other by the hair before Clarke has Bellamy in a chokehold, finger threatening his windpipe, knee threatening another precious area.

‘Yield,’ he chokes, almost laughing. ‘I yield, Princess.’

She releases him with a grin. ‘That was too easy.’

Bellamy rolls his eyes, massaging his arms. His muscly arms, dusted with the dirt from the practice yard now that he’s stripped off his jacket for their fighting. ‘Whatever, Princess. I nearly had you when my foot was on your neck.’

Clarke shrugs. ‘Should have kept it there then.’

‘Prince Bellamy, Princess Clarke,’ a voice calls, and Bellamy sighs, grimacing at her.

‘She here for you?’

Clarke’s jaw works, her good mood at her victory evaporating quickly. ‘Undoubtedly.’ She turns and walks towards the edge of the yard, stopping a few paces short of her aunt. Bellamy follows.

‘Queen Simone,’ he nods his head. Not a bow, like he should do, but Clarke can’t bring herself to correct him. Luckily, the queen doesn’t seem to care. She nods back.

‘A good fight,’ she says to them. ‘I see why everyone comes to watch.’

Clarke shrugs. ‘We’re evenly matched.’

‘Not so evenly,’ her aunt replies. ‘You won easily, in the end.’ Clarke bristles, but Bellamy lays a hand on her shoulder.

‘And so she should,’ he says evenly. ‘She could kill me at any moment. I’m lucky she doesn’t want to,’ he tries to joke.

Clarke just tenses. Her aunt’s eyes are glittering at them, full of some scheme that Clarke, killing machine that she was, was going to have to carry out.

‘So you are,’ Simone says, and then turns to Clarke. ‘I hope you’re not too exhausted from your fights. We have a task for you.’

‘What is it this time?’ Clarke asks wearily. It always came back to this eventually.

Her aunt’s eyes flicker to Bellamy. ‘You won’t need to leave for two days yet. But I thought I’d come let you know and take the opportunity to see your…progress while I was here.’

Clarke swallows her anger down, trying not to make it too visible. Simone was here to remind Clarke that at the end of the day, she belonged to Sanctum. To them.

‘Okay,’ Clarke manages finally. ‘I assume Kane will have the details.’

‘Yes,’ Simone says. ‘I’ll leave it to him. Just wanted to…’ Her eyes flicker back to Bellamy. ‘Remind you of your job.’

‘Of course, Highness.’

‘Excellent. I’ll leave you to it then,’ she smiles, and walks out of the yards, lifting the skirts of her gaudy, gold laced dress daintily.

Clarke exhales through her nose, trying to calm herself, not letting the tears that have sprung to her eyes venture onto her cheeks.

She almost forgets who’s with her, until a warm hand lands on the middle of her back.

‘You okay?’ His voice is rough, but full of concern.

Clarke wipes at her eyes, steadying herself so her voice won’t waver. ‘I’m fine. Just…’ she sighs. ‘Can we fight?’

‘Again?’ Bellamy asks suspiciously.

‘Yeah,’ Clarke says, shaking out her arms. ‘I won that one too easily. You gotta step up your game, Blake.’

He regards her for a second, before nodding. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘But if I say stop, we stop.’

‘Okay.’

‘I mean it, Clarke,’ he says, and the use of her real name startles her. She looks up and into his eyes. As usual, they’re shining on her. It feels like he can see through her. ‘I don’t know what your Aunt does to you, but…’

‘I don’t want to talk about her,’ Clarke huffs. ‘Fight me.’

Bellamy’s mouth quirks. ‘As you wish.’

He strikes out lightning quick, and Clarke’s quick to dodge and send back five harder blows of her own. It’s relieving, to lose herself in the fight. Knocking him back with every step, breathing her anger at Simone, at Sanctum, at herself out with each strike.

She’s so lost in her attacks, in not thinking about anything, that she only just registers her name.

‘Clarke, stop. Princess! Clarke!’ Bellamy barks, and Clarke halts, just as she’s about to slam a hand into his sternum. It’s only now she registers that she’s been fighting too hard. Not controlling her Grace at all. Just hitting where she could hit, without any care to where or how hard.

Her hand wavers before his, and he curls a hand around it, gently pushing it back to her side, away from him. He looks exhausted, she realises.

‘Clarke. You’re not okay.’

More tears spring to her eyes, and this time she can’t keep them back. She doesn’t cry though. Just lets them seep out, rolling down her cheeks. Clarke stares down at the dirt floor. Ashamed. She could have hurt Bellamy, if he hadn’t stopped her. She hadn’t been paying attention at all. He was her friend, Clarke realised in that moment. She _cared_ about him. And she hurt him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she croaks. ‘I’m sorry, Bellamy. I shouldn’t have…’

She feels his hands curl around her shoulders, and she’s being led to a bench. Bellamy sits her down, kneels before her, taking her hands in his own.

‘Clarke, you’re fine. I got through to you before it got too bad.’

Too bad. Gods, what a monster she was. What must he think of her? A brute. A killer. Can’t control her own Grace, even at twenty, and not even with him. A friend.

‘You’re not a brute, Clarke,’ Bellamy says, and Clarke blinks. He doesn’t seem fazed by what he’s said though. It must be a coincidence. Or maybe, even after this short time, he knows her. ‘You’re not owned by your aunt and uncle. The fact that you hate what they’re making you do? That proves it to me.’

Clarke sighs. ‘I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have fought you. Just talking to either of them gets me heated up, I…’

‘Princess, don’t apologise. I went against my own rule.’ He grins ruefully. ‘Never fight angry.’

‘Is that a rule for more than just me?’

He ducks his head. ‘My sister. She has a temper, and she likes to fight. I beat her every time, but when she’s angry she gets vicious. So we had to make a rule.’

Clarke smiles. ‘What about you? Do you ever get angry?’

Bellamy squeezes her hands. ‘If you want a heart to heart, we’re having some lunch.’ He hauls her up, and before she realises it, he’s hugging her.

‘I get the feeling,’ he says into her hair, ‘that you don’t get many of these.’

He’s right. She doesn’t. From Raven occasionally, but never like this. Never has she felt safer, never has she felt more secure, than wrapped in these arms.

‘Thanks, Bellamy.’

He draws back and looks at her, a strange look in his eyes. Stranger than usual, anyway. It’s hard to decipher, sometimes, what looks are odd, and what are just his unusual eyes.

Bellamy guides her out of the practice yard, and she knows already that they’re heading towards her rooms, where he’ll call for someone to fetch them tea and sponge cake. That always made her feel better. After only a month of fights and lunch together, he already knew her habits. And she didn’t even mind that he teased her that sponge cake was such a princess thing to eat.

They’re silent as they walk. Clarke can sense a long conversation coming, but he obviously wants to wait until they’re in the comfort of her chambers. But just as they enter the main castle, he gives her a side glance, a small smile gracing his lips.

‘I do,’ he says, and Clarke looks at him quizzically. ‘Get angry.’

‘When?’ Clarke asks, genuinely curious. She’s seen him frustrated. Mad. Annoyed. But never fully _angry_.

He shrugs. ‘When I let things get to me.’ He doesn’t add anything else, and Clarke lets it go. They’re at her rooms after all.

She leads them through to where she dines, and like she knew he would, he tells a servant to fetch them food and drink. He gestures for her to sit down before him, and she collapses into her chair, suddenly bone tired like she never usually is. It’s not from the fighting, Clarke doesn’t think. It’s Simone, her emotions, everything.

Bellamy sits gingerly down into the chair next to her, straying from his usual habit of sitting opposite her. She doesn’t mind though. Closer to him, she can feel the warmth radiating. He was like a fire.

The servant arrives with the tea and food and Clarke sips at her cup gratefully. Bellamy picks at some berries, sliding his eyes to hers every so often, as if gauging her mood.

Clarke knows what he wants to talk about. But she’s not ready. Not quite yet.

‘We can talk about them soon,’ she says after the tea has warmed her chest. ‘Can we discuss something else first? Just to wind down.’

He nods slightly, mouth quirked up at the corner. ‘Sure, Princess. Whenever you’re ready.’

They talk idly about the goings on of the court, of the little tidbits of information about the kidnapping they’ve gotten from other kingdoms that they’re trying to fit into a bigger picture. About Raven, about Wells and how he’s recovering.

‘Wells and Gabriel get along well,’ Bellamy’s saying, sounding a bit put out by it, to Clarke’s amusement.

‘They’ve got the whole ‘look after the innocent’ thing going,’ Clarke agrees. Bellamy smirks.

‘Like you don’t?’

Clarke scowls at him, but she can’t be offended. It was a much better thing to be known for, than _Wanheda_.

‘What’s your answer going to be to him, by the way?’

She frowns. ‘What answer? Who?’

Bellamy pops a berry in his mouth. ‘Gabriel. Will you say yes?’

‘Yes to what?’ He’s teasing her, she knows, but she can’t even work out about what.

He blushes a little, to Clarke’s surprise. ‘You don’t know?’ His tone is serious all of a sudden. He sounds embarrassed.

‘Don’t know what, Blake?’

Bellamy sighs, pushing away the bowl of berries to fold his arms on the table. When he looks into her eyes, there’s concern amongst the brown and gold.

‘Gabriel’s in love with you, Princess.’

Clarke freezes. What? That. No.

‘You didn’t know?’

She tries to catch her breath, upset spilling up from deep within her, wounds from a scar not yet healed. Always weeping. Clarke tries to hold her voice steady.

‘He’s not in love with me.’

‘Did he tell you that?’ Bellamy looks genuinely curious. He really believes it, Clarke realises. She’d thought he was more perceptive than that. He seemed to understand everyone’s feelings. Always knew exactly how her or Raven or Monty or Wells felt underneath everything else. He should have understood this about Gabriel, surely.

‘He didn’t have to,’ Clarke says shortly. ‘What? Did he tell you he was?’

To her surprise, he snorts. ‘Gabriel and I don’t talk, Clarke. He thinks I’m an ass. An upstart young prince who doesn’t know his place well enough, a thug who isn’t worthy to touch you, even in a fight.’

Clarke sighs. She knew they didn’t get along, but she didn’t realise they were still that hostile. Still, if Bellamy was going to be with Eden for a while, he ought to know.

‘Gabriel might think he’s in love with me,’ Clarke says finally, staring at the wall past Bellamy’s head. She doesn’t feel safe, looking at his eyes right now. ‘But he’s not.’

He presses his lips together. ‘Isn’t thinking you’re in love the same as being in it? Surely he would know his own heart? And trust me, Princess. He likes you as more than a friend.’

Clarke flicks her eyes back to his. She really does trust him, after so little time. It surprises her, how much she’s sure she can rely on him. And he must not know.

Now is as good a time as any for him to find out.

‘You haven’t heard the story, have you?’

‘What story?’

‘Josephine,’ Clarke says. ‘The true princess of Sanctum. My cousin. You haven’t heard her story. Our story.’

He frowns. ‘I remember her, now that you mention it. She visited Arcadia when we were younger. I wasn’t a prince yet, but I was there when she played with Wells.’

‘Mm.’ Clarke traces a crack in the table with her finger. ‘And what do you remember?’

He makes a face. ‘Cruel. Picked on the servants. Didn’t listen to her parents or anyone.’ Bellamy glances back to Clarke. ‘Am I dishonouring her memory?’

Clarke shakes her head, not smiling. ‘Cruel is accurate. When she visited you, she wouldn’t have had her Grace. Her eyes settled only a little before mine, when she was fifteen.’

‘You were fourteen then?’

She breathes out heavily. ‘Thirteen when my eyes settled. Fifteen when my Grace made itself apparent. I’m not sure with Josephine. We weren’t ever sure how long she’d known her powers.’

Bellamy looks like he’s trying to remember. ‘It was…something about minds?’

‘Yes. A mindreader.’ She makes a face. ‘Or mindjumper, maybe? Basically, she could connect her mind to another’s and control their bodies and read their thoughts.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah,’ Clarke agrees. ‘Oh. In the hands of someone kind, who knows what would have happened? But Josie had always been cruel. We grew up together. It wasn’t a surprise that she’d use it like she did.’

Bellamy looks like he’s struggling to swallow. ‘And what did she use it for?’

‘We didn’t realise at first. She started knowing things she shouldn’t have, not without being in our heads. So we thought she was a mindreader, although she never said what sort.’

‘But she wasn’t reading your mind,’ he says. ‘She was taking it.’

Clarke nods. ‘I’d forget things. And I found out later that other people did too. Unsure of how they’d end up dressed the way they were. I used to find the dresses in my wardrobe all crumpled and dirty, like they’d been dragged through the grass.’

‘So…you’d forget she did it? You didn’t notice it happening?’

‘It turns out,’ Clarke says, ‘that her body was basically immobile when she was in someone else’s head. She’d do it at night, when she was in bed. And we were already asleep. We didn’t even know it was happening. I guess,’ she laughs humourlessly. ‘It’s like we were sleepwalking.’

‘Clarke,’ Bellamy whispers. To her shock, he takes her hand. The warmth comforts her, like always. She doesn’t take it back. ‘I’m sorry.’

She smiles at him, eyes watery already. She really does hate reliving it. ‘Anyway. Gabriel had come to court a few months prior. Josie had her eye on him, told me to stay away. I was only happy to. I was actually betrothed to Queen Lexa back then,’ she explains. ‘who was only seventeen when she came to power.’

‘I remember.’

‘But apparently,’ Clarke continues. ‘Josephine hadn’t caught Gabriel’s eye. I had.’

Bellamy frowns. ‘So like now?’

‘No,’ Clarke says, steely. ‘Not like now. Sure, he liked my looks, or whatever. But we never spoke, not truly. The me that went to meet him for walks in the gardens, the me that read in the library with him at midnight, the me that,’ she shivers, ‘kissed him in the dark corners of the castle. That wasn’t me at all.’

Understanding dawns on Bellamy’s face, along with sadness. Disgust. Horror. They’re so clear in his eyes. It’s a relief, almost. To know what he’s feeling, so she can prepare for his reactions.

‘Josephine knew he liked me better, so she approached him _as _me.’ She shakes her head. ‘He fell in love.’

‘Clarke,’ Bellamy says.

But she shakes her head. ‘Gabriel still gets memories mixed up. Thinks a long conversation he had with Josephine five years ago was me. He did it only the other week.’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t…I wouldn’t have…’

‘Bellamy,’ Clarke smiles. ‘It’s okay. You couldn’t have known. No one could’ve predicted that.’ She sighs. ‘He thinks he’s in love with Clarke Griffin, the girl he’s got to know these past two years, working with Eden. But I know that what it’s based in is her.’

Bellamy nods. ‘I know Josephine is…dead,’ he ventures. She knows he sees her face fall, because he winces. ‘Sorry, if you don’t…’

‘It’s how I found my Grace, actually.’ She pauses, taking a long sip of her tea before continuing. She stares down at the table now. ‘Gabriel approached me in the daytime. Talking of things that didn’t make sense to me.’ Clarke straightened her shoulders. ‘Josephine interrupted, saved me from the conversation. But only until dinner. He kept trying to talk to me about our…our kiss. I left the table with Josephine. It was a mistake.’

Clarke’s hands are fidgeting now, turning over and over on the table. As she’s squeezing her fingers, his hands engulf them, pressing them down onto the wood, stilling them.

‘She told me that she was going to tell Gabriel the truth, hoping he’d fallen in love with her enough to look past it. But he spoke to me first. And so then she got angry.’

‘Angry?’

‘I knew she wasn’t the nicest person,’ Clarke whispers. ‘I hadn’t realised she didn’t care about hurting other people. Not at all.’ She takes another heavy breath. ‘She was making a scene. Gabriel interrupted us. And she lost it. Lost all of her logic. Told him he could have me and used her Grace to try and make it happen.’

Bellamy inhales sharply. ‘She used it then?’

‘Yes. And because I was awake, I knew what was happening.’ A shudder runs down her back at the memory. ‘My mouth was speaking words that weren’t mine. And she went to kiss him, and I couldn’t let it happen.’ She glances up at Bellamy. ‘She’d taken that from me too. My first kiss, before I even knew it. And then she was trying to do it as I watched.’

He looks sickened. ‘You were watching?’

‘It was like I was behind a thick window. I was distraught, obviously.’ She shrugs. ‘Maybe it was that desperation that let me break through.’

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. ‘You managed to stop her?’

‘It took a lot of mental strength. A lot of screaming,’ Clarke says wryly. ‘But she wouldn’t give up there.’ She decides she can look at his eyes now. They’re full of anger, and Clarke can see it clearly now. What his temper would look like. ‘All of this happened on the rooftop garden. You know, the one off the dining hall?’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah. She used her Grace again. But pretended to be hysterical. Climbed us up on the balcony.’

Bellamy’s still, but his hand is tensed in her own. She tries to reassure him.

‘You know this has an…it’s not a happy ending. But you know I’m okay, right?’ she asks.

‘Yeah,’ he says roughly. ‘But Clarke. I’ve only known you for a month…but I can’t believe…’

She squeezes his hand, not letting him keep speaking. ‘I was desperate. Locked away. Trapped. The whole court had arrived by then. Watching Lady Clarke Griffin lose her mind, about to jump off the railing. And then I realised. Where was Josephine? Her body, I mean.’

‘You said it went immobile?’

‘Yeah. It was in the shadows. With all the commotion, everyone forgot she was standing there. I realised that…if there was a way for her to get to my body, maybe there’d be a way for me to get to hers.’

‘Holy shit, Princess.’ Bellamy shakes his head. ‘That was her Grace, though. How the hell…?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says honestly. ‘All I know is that if it hadn’t worked, I’d be dead. I managed it, somehow. It’s kind of a blur. I tried to pull me down. Somehow, I had the presence of mind to yell out what was happening. Then she swapped us back.’

‘Gods.’

Clarke snorts. ‘Then it was a good old-fashioned scuffle.’ She feels any semblance of humour slip from her face. The memory of Josephine’s caved in jaw swims in her mind. ‘Her trying to throw me off the balcony. That was when my Grace revealed itself.’

There’s a pause. Clarke doesn’t really want to give him the details. The way she’d sobbed as she fought for her life. The bones and skin on her cousin’s face collapsing. The sickening thud of the body on the stones.

Arms encircle her, pulling her from the memories. She finds herself hugging Bellamy back, tucking her chin into his shoulder. Maybe this was part of his Grace, she thinks. Giving phenomenal hugs. He squeezes her tighter, and Clarke realises her breath is short. Her cheeks are wet. She’s been crying, without even realising. She doesn’t see why she should be though. Why should she cry over a murder she committed? Even after all these years, even after knowing her Grace required finesse and training and concentration to control, she still feels guilty that it had come to that. That instead of subduing her cousin she’d lost it and killed her.

And now, today, she’s shown Bellamy why she is a monster. She couldn’t even control her gift with him. And if she hates killing so much, why does she do it for her aunt and uncle? Why does she follow their commands? How is Bellamy hugging her right now? The thoughts spin out of control, rattling and shaking in her head.

‘Clarke,’ Bellamy says.

‘Yeah?’

‘Who we are, and we need to be to survive, are very different things.’

‘Who I am?’ She withdraws from his embrace. ‘Who I am is a monster. Do you know the reason I follow their orders? Why I’m their assassin?’

Bellamy gazes at her, before shaking his head slightly.

‘Because I’m scared.’ She looks away from him, at the wall to her side. Ashamed. ‘Not of them. I could kill them any time. But that’s what I am scared of.’

‘You’re scared of yourself.’

Clarke lets out a breath. ‘Yes. I’m afraid of what I would do to them, if I had to defy them. Usually I can control my anger. With them, I’m a coward.’

Bellamy’s still got his hands on her forearms, resting on their laps. He rubs his thumbs over her skin, and comfort sprouts from the sensation, up her arms and into her chest.

‘You shouldn’t have to be scared of yourself, Princess.’

‘I know,’ she whispers. ‘It’s ridiculous. The only things I’m scared of. Myself, and mindreaders.’

She thinks she imagines the tension in his hands suddenly, because they’re back to relaxed and gentle in less than a second.

‘Mindreaders?’

Clarke shrugs, pressing her lips together. ‘Maybe not afraid. But I certainly can’t stand them. After Josephine…’

‘But she wasn’t really a mindreader, was she?’

‘I guess not. But she took from my mind. She invaded the one space that was mine. And mindreaders do that too. I just,’ she sighs. ‘I know it’s unfair, a lot of the time. But anyone who has my mind…I don’t want to be near them, just in case.’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I can understand that.’

Clarke heaves another great breath, feeling exhausted once again. She’s tired of talking. She grasps his hands back. Now that they’re past this barrier of contact, she finds it addicting. To feel his skin on hers, even if it’s just their hands. It’s still not as intense as his eyes though. Nothing can beat his eyes.

‘Well. That’s my tragic backstory.’ She tries a smile. ‘What about you? We’ve been friends for a month and I still need to hear more about your sister. Wells. Your family.’

He smiles slightly, looking off-put but amused. ‘Are you interrogating me?’

‘Only if I have to.’

Bellamy lets go of her hands and smiles wider, rubbing his face. ‘My family.’ He fiddles with his rings. ‘Well. I love them.’

Clarke rolls her eyes. ‘Duh. Tell me something I don’t know. How did you grow up? How old is your sister? How did you grow up with Wells before you were his brother?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Impatient. Alright. I was born to my mother, Aurora. My father was an Arcadian sailor, died at sea when I was a baby.’

‘I’m s-‘ she starts, but he waves a hand. ‘I don’t remember him. I grew up in the city, with my mother. We were poor, but she was beautiful, and all royals can be snobs, but Arcadia doesn’t care as much about nobility marrying commoners.’

‘That sounds nice.’

He smiles. ‘It can be. My mother met a noble, married him. I got a sister. Octavia. She’s eighteen.’

‘What’s she like?’

‘A pain in my ass,’ Bellamy says, but it’s fond. ‘Her father died too. And my mother was busy working and courting nobles. I ended up looking after her most of the time.’

‘That must have been hard.’

He shrugs. ‘My sister, my responsibility. After a while, we were falling on some hard times. Luckily, my mother was on good terms with Octavia’s aunt. We moved in with them.’ He grins at Clarke’s confused expression. ‘My aunt was away a lot too. But she had a daughter about my age. Luna.’

‘The princess of Polaris!’ Clarke realises. That’s why he’d been so concerned about her.

‘Yes. But back then, she was just a noble of Arcadia. And she’d been engaged since birth to Wells, the prince. They were friends.’

‘So that’s how you two met.’

‘Cottoning on? Wells would often visit our estate, and Luna would drag us along to the castle. I wasn’t treated like nobility by the servants or anyone else. I had friends in the city, too. But yes. I basically grew up with Luna and Wells.’

Clarke smiles. ‘That sounds nice. To have allies, siblings. People on your side.’

‘I guess you only had Josephine, huh?’

‘About as sisterly as an Azgeda soldier,’ Clarke says dryly. He laughs. ‘So why did Luna move to Polaris? If she was engaged to Wells?’

Bellamy muses. ‘I still don’t really know. We were still teenagers. My mother had just married Thelonious. Queen Alie visited, though I never met her.’ He shrugs. ‘Apparently, she needed an heir, and had heard about Luna. Thought she was a good choice. And Luna’s mother had died having Madi. So she decided to accept.’

‘Madi?’

‘Her sister. She was only about five when they left. She’d be twelve now.’

‘Do you miss them?’

Bellamy’s smile flickers. ‘Of course,’ he says, voice slightly hoarse. ‘They’re my family.’

Clarke nods. It would be nice, she thinks. To have a family like that. ‘That must be why she’s so upset. If you were all family.’

‘Upset?’

‘Yeah. Locking herself and her sister away, when she heard the news of Wells going missing.’

To her consternation, Bellamy’s eyebrows have furrowed deeply. He looks almost alarmed. ‘Luna?’

‘Yes? I’m sorry. I thought you would have known. Is that surprising?’

Bellamy’s gaze, for once, looks past her, lost. ‘Yeah,’ he mutters, ‘it’s surprising. It’s weird.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ He shoots her a look. ‘Is it not weird to lock yourself away? Wells was only missing. Not even dead.’

‘It’s weird,’ Clarke says carefully. ‘I guess I just dismissed it as an Arcadian thing. Or that she loved Wells from when they were engaged.’

Bellamy’s shaking his head again. ‘It’s not an Arcadian thing to lock yourself away, especially with her sister. They did love each other,’ he adds absently. ‘But as family. Luna adores him, she’d be concerned at the news. But the Luna I know would take action. Write a dozen letters. Not cower in grief.’

‘Maybe she’s changed,’ Clarke offers.

Bellamy chews his lip, glancing at her. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Maybe.’

He’s acting weird, weirder than usual. And this time, Clarke’s not willing to write it off as an Arcadian thing. He loves his family and knows them well. And he’s concerned.

But before she can press him on it, a knock sounds at the door. Raven, she guesses, from the impatient, unending thumps.

She shoots Bellamy an apologetic look before going to open the door, but he’s lost in thought and doesn’t even notice.

‘Alright, calm down,’ Clarke says, throwing the door open.

Raven grins. ‘I knew you had company,’ she says, eyes flicking past Clarke to Bellamy.

‘Like it’s unusual. We were having lunch and talking. What do you want?’

She addresses both of them. ‘Wells is awake. Looks a lot better than he has been. Wants to see you.’

Bellamy actually seems interested in this, to Clarke’s relief, and she nods. ‘Alright. We’ll come.’

Raven rolls her eyes. ‘Get washed up, will you? I can’t believe you’re both royals,’ she snarks, before turning on her heel to return to her rooms. Clarke huffs and calls after her.

‘You will be one day, Reyes!’

‘Shof op, _Wanheda_,’ her friend yells back. Clarke flips her off before turning to Bellamy meekly. ‘We’d better go and look presentable.’

Not that he didn’t look presentable. In Clarke’s opinion, Bellamy looked handsome all the time, and especially with his hair ruffled from a fight, dirt staining his clothes, clad not in royal garb but simple trousers and tunic.

Bellamy grins at her, standing up and stretching before passing her to exit her room. ‘I’m always presentable, Princess. Even in my royal garb.’

He leaves before she can roll her eyes at him.

*

Bellamy’s already talking to Wells when Clarke arrives in his small dank secret chamber. The prince looks much better than he had a month ago – Clarke feels bad now, that he’ll still have to hide out in this room for safety.

She decides to leave the brothers to their conversation for now and goes to peer over Monty’s shoulder. He’s examining a leaf with an intense focus through a magnifying glass.

‘Special properties?’

Monty startles, and smiles when he turns around to see Clarke. ‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘I think if I mix it with something else, I might get a long-lasting dye.’

‘Dye? For what?’

‘Hair maybe,’ he glances at Wells. ‘I was already working on it, for disguises for you and others. Unfortunately, he might be a little harder to disguise just from dyeing his hair.’

‘Hey, I’d look great as a blonde,’ the prince calls over.

Clarke snorts. ‘Do you want my hair as a wig, Highness?’

Wells grins at her. ‘I think I’d look rather ravishing. Don’t you think, Bellamy?’

Bellamy rolls his eyes. But Clarke doesn’t think she’s imagining the tension lurking around his eyes.

‘Undoubtedly,’ Clarke assures Wells. ‘But I don’t know if it’d disguise you from my aunt and uncle.’

Wells sighs deeply. ‘Yeah. Probably not. I’d still like to get out of here a few times though. Maybe at night?’

‘The priority is your safety, Wells,’ Bellamy says, and his brother grimaces.

‘No matter how safe I am, I’m going to lose it if I don’t see the sky soon. Being cooped up in this cell is getting old. Uh, no offense, Monty.’

‘Hmm? Oh. None taken.’

Wells shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry about me, Bellamy. I told you. You should go home to Octavia.’

‘And I told you,’ Bellamy replies evenly, ‘that I’m staying on the mainland until I find out who took you.’

‘You want him to go home?’ Clarke asks. She ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought of Bellamy leaving.

The prince works his jaw. ‘If my family is in danger, Bellamy’s better off back in Arcadia. Not swanning around here. Besides, Eden is already looking for my kidnapper. You guys don’t need him.’

Bellamy huffs. ‘Our family is fine. Unlike you, they can either fight, or have bodyguards. Probably doubled, since your disappearance. And they know to be on the lookout, now they know you’re safe.’

Wells looks at him for a moment, before smiling a little. ‘I never thought I’d see the day you let Octavia look after herself.’

‘She’s been doing it a while,’ Bellamy mutters. ‘Besides, she has Lincoln, too. Her betrothed,’ he adds to Clarke. Lincoln, their Trigeda contact. He’d mentioned a woman he was courting last time they spoke.

‘Political?’ Clarke can’t help but ask.

‘No,’ Wells says. ‘They’re in love. Much to this guy’s chagrin.’

‘Hey,’ Bellamy says. ‘I got over myself.’

‘Eventually,’ Wells rolls his eyes, glancing at Clarke as if to commiserate. ‘Stubborn ass.’

Bellamy clears his throat. ‘I may be stubborn,’ he says. ‘But I’m right. I can’t go back until I figure this mess out.’ He looks anxious. ‘You guys are doing a good job. But I might have to go looking for information on my own soon.’ Bellamy bites his lip, gazing at Clarke through his lashes. There’s reluctance there.

Clarke hates that she understands. But she’s surprised at her next words.

‘Don’t go yet,’ she says.

‘Yet?’

‘I have that mission from Simone. But if you’re going to look for information…’ She squares her shoulders. ‘Don’t leave me behind.’

Bellamy’s eyes drill into hers for a few seconds, brown and gold leaving a nervous fluttering in her stomach. But then they soften. ‘Of course not. We’re a team now.’

Clarke finds herself smirking back. ‘Sure we are.’ But it’s not totally sarcastic, and she can tell he knows it.

He chuckles and claps his brother on the shoulder. ‘Right then. After you get back.’

‘I promise.’

She’s rewarded with a burning hand on her shoulder before he leaves the room. ‘I have some letters to write,’ he says. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ 

Clarke doesn’t watch his back as he leaves. She doesn’t.

When she spins back around, Wells is looking at her with a sharp, knowing look in his eye. What was with these Arcadians and seeming to know what she was thinking?

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Wells grins, before lying back on his cot. ‘I’m exhausted. I hope your friends find some drugs to help me stay awake soon.’

‘Plants,’ Monty protests from his desk. ‘It’s just simple herbal remedies.’

Wells yawns. ‘Whatever you say.’ In just another moment, he’s snoring.

Clarke collapses onto a chair, rubbing her face. Today was just too much. When she removes her hands, she sees Monty trying to hold back a laugh.

‘What? Not you too,’ she scowls.

‘I didn’t say anything. I merely just implied with my eyes. That you like Prince Bellamy.’

‘Of course I like him,’ Clarke grumbles. ‘We get along well. Work together well.’

At that moment Raven opens the door behind them, raising her eyebrows at Clarke’s slumped posture on her chair.

‘What’s that? You and Bellamy work together well?’ She waggles her eyebrows. ‘I sure hope you do.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘She wants to leave with him,’ Monty supplies. ‘Offered to go with him to look for answers.’

Raven smirks. ‘Yeah? How’s Gabriel gonna feel about that?’

Clarke freezes for the second time that day for the same reason. ‘Why does everyone insist on that?’

‘Insist on what?’

Clarke worries her lip. ‘Bellamy said…I just thought…’

Raven rolls her eyes. ‘Spit it out.’

‘Gabriel doesn’t like me romantically, does he?’ She blurts.

To her horror, both Raven and Monty burst out laughing. She scowls as they try to contain their giggles. ‘Oh Clarke,’ Raven gasps. ‘You’re blind.’

‘He doesn’t! He just thinks he does. From Josephine,’ she snaps.

That gets them to sober. They exchange a look. ‘I’m not sure about that,’ tries Monty. ‘I think he really loves you.’

Clarke shakes her head, putting her head in her hands.

Raven sits down next to her, apparently taking pity on her. ‘You don’t think so?’

‘He mixed up a memory of me and her only last month,’ she says.

Her friend rubs her back. ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it.’

‘He never does.’

‘Do you want him to like the real you?’

Clarke thinks for a moment, really thinks. She’s always dismissed the possibility of Gabriel truly liking her. It’s always been overshadowed by the spectre of her cousin. Would she want to marry Gabriel, if he loved her? Truly did, for being just Clarke?

No. It’s a definite feeling in her gut. It’s just not like that. Too much history, and they just wouldn’t work. She doesn’t see him in that way at all. Even if she did want to marry, he couldn’t be her husband.

She shakes her head slowly. ‘No. I really don’t.’

Monty gives her a sympathetic look. ‘Well you should probably prepare for what to say to him.’

Clarke huffs. ‘He wouldn’t be that stupid. He knows me. He knows I don’t want to marry. Probably even suspects I don’t want to be a princess.’

Raven sighs. ‘I don’t know about that. But you can dream.’

Her friends are sympathetic, but they don’t understand, and Clarke finds herself taking leave of them soon after, mind drifting. She wishes she could talk to someone who really understood, who _got it_. The stress of being a Graceling, the stress of being a royal, all mixed up together.

When her heart suggests a certain someone not a moment later, she ignores the twinge. Her head is more logical – no one would ever understand the true difficulty of navigating all of it. Of having people avoid you before they even knew you. And Clarke’s accepted that.

Really.

*

Two days later, Clarke sets off alongside Kane and Gabriel, but in the other direction from Eligius this time. The only fortunate thing about this trip to Trigeda is that it gives them an opportunity to poke around for information about Wells.

The official reason for their outing is much worse.

‘I knew Russell did dirty deals,’ Gabriel is saying as they navigate the horses through the thick woods to the south of Sanctum. ‘But this on another level.’

Kane sighs. ‘I did think Queen Lexa wouldn’t stand for this. But Trigeda has been put in a difficult spot.’

Clarke doesn’t say anything. The knowledge of what she’s supposed to do is squirming in her stomach. She’s _Wanheda_. She’s done awful things for her uncle, killed and maimed at his word, punished people who probably didn’t deserve it, executed traitors she never questioned herself.

But they’ve never set off to enact something that repulses her this much.

It’s worse too, for Clarke. To the ignorance of her companions, she actually knows the woman she’s supposed to torture today.

Lady Anya had been Queen Lexa’s advisor years ago, accompanying the young monarch on visits to Sanctum. She’d been a stern presence, looming behind Lexa even on the few times Clarke had visited her betrothed at the Trigeda palace.

Clarke’s unsure why Lady Anya now lives on this border estate, looking after two noble girls. Maybe she and the queen had a falling out, and that was why Lexa was acquiescing to Russell’s demands. Or maybe Kane was right, and Lexa really had no choice but to turn her back on a friend.

‘How old are the girls again?’ Gabriel is asking as Clarke tunes back in to their conversation.

‘The younger is only thirteen. The elder is seventeen, but she has previously refused proposals from many eligible lords.’ Kane says.

‘So one is ridiculously young,’ Gabriel says unhappily. ‘And one is almost certainly unwilling.’

Clarke wonders if she knows them, these young nobles Russell has chosen for Lord Ryker. For that was their task. In return for precious resources that Trigeda needed in a time of drought, Sanctum’s king had demanded a wife for his favourite, most loyal lord. A noble one, he said, to make up for the lost alliance of Clarke’s previous engagement to Lexa. Even though there had been no hard feelings in that particular circumstance. Clarke knew he was just using her past as convenient leverage.

Apparently, the two potential brides he had his eye on for Ryker lived on the border, under the guardianship of Lady Anya, who of course, given their age and stance, Clarke reflects, had refused to give either of them up.

Russell had appealed to Queen Lexa, who had told him to retrieve them himself, if he wanted them so badly. And of course, in the king’s eyes, that meant sending his dog to do it for him, getting her to punish the rebellious Lady Anya for good measure. All under Lexa’s acquiescence.

‘It seems that way,’ Kane says. ‘Nobility deals with arranged marriages all the time. But if their own guardian won’t give them up, this match is unwilling on all sides but Russell’s. A bad omen.’

‘It’s barbaric,’ Gabriel shakes his head. ‘A political betrothal is one thing, but to ignore their guardian’s wishes too?’

Personally, Clarke thought either was horrific. These girls were lucky to have Anya as guardian – most nobles had parents who didn’t give them such a choice. But she couldn’t deny that the king was overstepping a line here, overruling not only their parent but also their queen.

‘What are their names?’ She finally asks quietly. Kane gives her a long look. Usually she doesn’t ask much about the circumstances. Clarke completes her jobs quietly, with no questions.

‘The younger one is Beatrice. The elder is Zoe.’

Zoe. Why was that familiar?

The answer flashes in her mind. A young companion of the queen’s, when Clarke had visited the foreign palace when she was fourteen. Red hair up in braids, a wild look in their eye. Clarke had found them charming, and they’d struck up a friendship. One night they’d confessed to Clarke with a nervous voice that they preferred the name Monroe, and they weren’t a boy or a girl. They were also kind of jealous of Clarke, that she got to marry Lexa, because the queen was prettier than any lord or baker boy around the castle they were supposed to giggle after.

The memory sinks into Clarke’s stomach, heavy. She just couldn’t face forcing Monroe to be Lord Ryker’s lady wife. But the alternative was a thirteen-year-old, and this wasn’t even going to be a long betrothal, like hers to the queen. Many children were betrothed when they were young, but their marriages didn’t happen until nineteen or twenty. Russell had made it clear that Clarke was to bring back a bride for a wedding in the next month.

‘I don’t like it at all,’ Gabriel says. ‘But I don’t know what else we can do.’

What else could she do? Clarke was _Wanheda_ – she’d be undermining her king and queen if she refused this task, and then they would punish her, and she’d have to fight back.

And she’s scared. Scared of losing herself. Scared that she won’t be able to stop herself from killing them.

But how scared must these young nobles be? Knowing that the assassin of Sanctum was on her way to kidnap them and hurt their protector?

A resolve slowly grows in Clarke’s chest as they canter on through the thick forest. Kane and Gabriel’s discussion of their task fades away to silence, but her thoughts don’t falter.

Bellamy had said she shouldn’t have to be scared of herself. But that’s what was happening. And it was selfish – prioritising her own fear over the wellbeing of others.

There’s only one choice – Clarke has to figure out a loophole. Something to stop all of it. She can’t go through with it, but she also can’t lose herself. So she gives herself the last few hours of their travel to think of a solution.

She has to.

They arrive at Anya’s estate just as the sun descends below the tree-line. Trigeda is a kingdom of forests, and this piece of land is no different. There is no main building Clarke can see, but a series of enclosures built up, into, and around the trees. It’s magnificent but also intimidating – even from down below, it’s easy to tell it’s a maze. Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if Anya has hidden her charges away. She could probably hide herself too, from _Wanheda_’s blades and punishments, but. Although it’s been years, Clarke is sure that Anya would never hide her face from a challenge.

Even if that challenge is Clarke – impossible to beat.

As usual for when a master has prepared for Clarke to be sent to them, Anya’s guards don’t blink at their arrival. They’re cautious, sure, but they quickly lead the three of them through twisted paths, up stone stairs and through gnarled archways until they come to stand in a clearing. And Clarke was right. The Lady of the estate is waiting.

Anya’s face is shadowed; only highlights of her face are seen by the thrown light of torches blazing around them. Clarke rolls her eyes internally – the Trigeda were known for these dramatics.

But externally, she schools her face into marble. She’s not sure how well it will work – Anya would definitely remember her from years ago and may easily see through her. For now, however, she must keep up the façade of _Wanheda_.

‘A delegation from Sanctum, I presume?’ Anya says first, voice dry as sand as they face each other in the ring of trees. Although they’re outside, there’s a sense of civility and decadence to the clearing. They’re in a room of nature’s making. The stars are eyes in the ceiling of the sky, watching them.

Up close, Clarke can see Anya’s wearing the Trigeda warpaint, similar to her _Wanheda_ kohl. Their kingdoms had shared a culture and a language, long ago.

‘Yes, but I don’t believe we’ve met,’ says Kane, after a stiff silence. ‘I am Marcus Kane, in service to King Russell and Queen Simone of Sanctum. This here is Lord Gabriel Santiago. And the Lady Princess Clarke Griffin.’

‘Yes. Clarke.’ Anya steps forward, dark eyes tracing Clarke up and down, cataloguing her growth. It’s been a long time, and fourteen to twenty is quite a change. ‘I would say it’s good to see you again, Lady Princess,’ Anya drawls. ‘But that would be a lie, if my knowledge of the reason for your visit is correct.’

In the corner of her vision, Clarke sees Gabriel send her a sharp glare. Angry, probably, that she hadn’t told them she knew Anya, and that Anya knew her. Kane remains impassive – he probably already knew, now that Clarke thinks about it.

Clarke says nothing to Anya, only watches. She can’t give anything away, not yet. Guards still line the edge of the clearing, watching the meeting. And any one of them could be a spy.

‘You seem an astute Lady,’ Kane begins, voice measured. ‘I’m sure that you do know of the deal between our sire and yours.’

Anya’s eyes glitter. ‘I do.’

‘And do you intend to pay it?’

Her face doesn’t even twitch. ‘I do not.’

Kane doesn’t react, just nods. ‘Lord Gabriel, if you please.’ Anybody who didn’t know Kane wouldn’t have detected the slight waver in his voice, but Clarke does. He’s reluctant, but he’s following his orders. She clenches her fists behind her back.

Gabriel removes a scroll from his luggage and unfurls it, clearing his throat.

‘The King Russell and Queen Simone of Sanctum demand, in exchange for the resources needed by and given to the Trigeda crown, the following: Eight thousand gold, and either the Lady Beatrice or the Lady Zoe of Trigeda to be sent to Sanctum as a bride for the favoured Lord Ryker.’

‘I know the deal,’ Anya hisses.

‘Does your queen not intend to pay the debt?’

‘My queen,’ Anya says. ‘Does what she has to do to care for her people. But I have a similar duty, and that is to the two named in your deed. Neither is a fit or willing bride for your lord, and thus I refuse the terms on their behalf.’

There’s a silence. Anya stares them down with the might of a wise Trigeda warrior. Clarke can feel the awkwardness radiate off Kane and Gabriel beside her as they deliberate what to do. Usually Clarke would have stepped forward by now, eager to get it over with.

‘Lady Anya,’ Clarke says finally, sliding forward half a step. ‘May I request a private parlay. Without your guards present.’ She tries to entreat through her eyes her true purpose – no spies to relay their conversation back to Russell or Simone.

Anya frowns. ‘Why would I give up the only protection I have against you, _Wanheda_? You could kill me where I stand.’

‘You and I both know,’ Clarke shoots back. ‘that none of those guards will make a difference to me, if I wanted to kill you.’

Suspicious eyes bore back into hers, trying to find a crack, a falsehood, in Clarke’s request. ‘Will you at least unarm yourself?’

Clarke shrugs. ‘If it makes you feel better.’

She unholsters her gun, slides two blades out of each sleeve, unsheathes two knives from her boots, and meticulously picks through her clothes to find every sharp weapon she has, and drops them at her feet, nodding to a guard. He creeps forward reluctantly, as if afraid she’ll snatch them back up and attack him. But she doesn’t. He gathers the weapons and retreats back to the tree-line.

‘Clarke, what are you doing?’ Gabriel hisses. She ignores him.

‘And will they leave us in private?’

The guards wait for Anya’s curt nod, but they receive it, and shuffle out of the clearing, a few of them eyeing Clarke suspiciously.

‘And the shooters you have in the trees. The ones in earshot.’

Anya scowls, but signals with a wave of her hand, and there’s a slight rustling before stillness creeps back in. Only the torchlight seems to move, along with the nervous breaths of the two men behind them. This wasn’t in any discussed plans, and she only hopes they’ll go along with it.

‘Are we alone?’

The lady glowers. ‘Yes. What now? Kill me, maim me, or torture me? Isn’t that what you want?’

‘No.’

Her eyes jerk up, narrowing. ‘No? I’m happy to hear it. It wouldn’t have made a difference. Whatever you do to me, I will not give you their location.’

‘I suspected as much,’ Clarke says. ‘But it just so happens that I don’t want it anyway.’

Anya regards her for a second, before she lifts her head. ‘You haven’t changed as much as I thought, Clarke Griffin.’

‘Neither have you. I ask you again. Are we truly alone? Your safety depends on it. As does my friends’.’

There’s another pause. ‘We’re alone,’ Anya says. Clarke finds no lies in her face and allows her shoulders to relax.

‘I think we can all agree,’ she begins. ‘that the task we am meant to carry out today is barbaric. Wrong. Unthinkable.’

‘Clarke,’ Kane says. ‘When Gabriel and I were talking, we didn’t mean to…’

‘Stop,’ she says. ‘It wasn’t just you.’ She twists a boot into the ground. ‘I’m sick of carrying out their dirty work. I’m sick of punishing people who don’t deserve it. I’m sick of killing. It stops today. With this.’

‘Finally have moral standards?’ scoffs Anya.

‘No,’ Clarke says. ‘I’ve always had them. I just remembered I have the power to uphold them.’ She stares Anya squarely in the face. ‘Are Beatrice and Monroe safe?’

Anya looks thrown at the directness. ‘Tris and Monroe are safe, yes.’ She cocks her head. ‘Monroe told you?’

Clarke nods. ‘We were friendly. They were good to me. I haven’t forgotten. And even still, they wouldn’t deserve this. Neither of them do.’

Tension leaks out of Anya, like a wilting plant. Suddenly her age is more apparent, the guise of a Trigeda warrior dropping for a second as a worried guardian takes her place. Clarke hopes it means she believes them that they don’t want to cause harm.

‘Tris is young, even younger than her age suggests. She’s a child, barely old enough or strong enough to hold a sword, let alone marry.’ It was Trigeda custom to train their children at a young age to become warriors. ‘And Monroe does not wish to be a Lady.’ Her eyes flick to Kane and Gabriel. ‘Nor marry a man. I thought the queen would consider that, but she couldn’t prioritise one life over the many starving.’ She sighs. ‘But I can. That’s why she let me keep them. And why she told Russell to retrieve them himself.’

It dawns on Clarke. ‘She knew he’d send me.’

‘And she hoped,’ Anya agrees. ‘that you hadn’t changed so much from when you were young, despite the stories we hear now. I must say I did not have faith. But perhaps I should have.’

Clarke allows a small smile. She and Lexa hadn’t been meant to be, but it was gratifying that her old betrothed still harboured some semblance of belief in her.

‘It seems she was right,’ Kane interrupts them. He looks at Clarke. ‘This is a huge step to take. Are you sure you’re willing? The consequences…’

‘The consequences are mine to bear,’ Clarke says firmly. ‘If we were anybody else, Eden would be stopping us right now. This is my responsibility.’

‘But Clarke,’ Gabriel bursts. ‘The king. Simone. They’ll be furious, they’ll...’

‘Gabriel,’ Clarke says tiredly. ‘What can they do to me? I’m not scared of them.’ She sighs. ‘Not anymore.’ She doesn’t let on that there’s a different thing she’s scared of. Her control. Her lack of it.

‘We’ll stand with you. This is as much our responsibility as yours.’

‘No,’ Kane says, surprising Clarke. She agrees with him, but she had expected she’d need to convince him too. ‘They don’t have physical power over Clarke, but they do have power over us. If we are to continue with Eden and our livelihoods, this needs to be Clarke’s move alone.’

Clarke eyes Anya, who’s watching their conversation with considering eyes.

‘Exactly,’ she says to Gabriel. ‘You and Marcus can be forced into the dungeons, your families threatened, lands taken away.’ Clarke closes a fist, digging her nails into her palm. ‘There is nothing they can take from me that I haven’t already lost. And they cannot take me prisoner.’

Gabriel closes his mouth, silent, but she can sense the discontent radiating off him all the same. But at least he doesn’t argue. Clarke turns to Anya.

‘We need to fabricate a story. Decide what went on here today. What conversations were had. What I said to refuse. The way they tried to force me into hurting you.’

The lady nods slowly. ‘I think we can do that.’ She watches Clarke for a second, measured. ‘I will not thank you for this. All you have done is the decent thing – not hurt me or my charges.’

Clarke feels a heaviness float off her chest. Relief. She doesn’t want to be thanked. She doesn’t deserve credit for not becoming the monster she knows stirs inside her.

‘But,’ Anya says. ‘It will become late, after our discussion. We extend an invitation for you to stay the night with your companions, Lady Princess.’

‘Clarke’s fine,’ she says. ‘But that would be excellent.’

Kane murmurs his agreement, and with a brusque nod, Anya calls a guard back in to prepare them all rooms, before leading them over to a wood-hewn table hidden in a dark corner of the clearing.

‘Let us begin.’

*

Negotiations last until after dinner. By the time food is served, Anya has relaxed enough in their presence to send her trusted guards to retrieve Tris and Monroe, who join them. Tris is a bright, happy girl, seemingly ignorant of what she’s escaped. But Monroe hugs Clarke when they realise what has happened. Clarke doesn’t want their gratitude, but she hugs back all the same.

‘Thank you, Lady Clarke,’ says Monroe, and Clarke waves it away.

‘I’m only doing the right thing,’ she tells them firmly. ‘I hope now you’ll be free to marry someone who deserves you.’

Monroe gives her a shy smile. ‘I will be. You’ve made me very happy.’

‘I’m glad.’

They set a story for Anya to tell Lexa, and for her to spread among the other nobles. Part of it is a suggestion of Anya’s that Clarke hates, but she recognises the logic.

She’s as gentle as she possibly can be, giving Kane and Gabriel injuries so that it looks like she fought against them. But they both also see the smartness behind the ploy, and they hold still while Clarke slices shallowly with her blade and gives them a couple of bruises.

She hopes it will be enough to fool her aunt and uncle. Clarke doesn’t care what they think about her now – she can be their disobedient, violent, raging dog. But Gabriel and Kane must look loyal, for Eden to keep on.

Tris shows them to their own rooms after dinner, but Clarke asks the girl where their range is, and if she could perhaps borrow it for a time. The girl is happy to lead Clarke to the back of the estate, where wooden targets hang from trees and lanterns light branches in between.

Sometimes Clarke regrets not going to live in Trigeda. It’s beautiful.

She cleans her gun slowly, methodically, and only when she’s ready does she start shooting, relaxing into the familiar motion. It’s not a rushed, frenzied outpour of emotion like the night she first properly met Bellamy. But it calms her, keeps the thoughts of what will happen when she returns to Sanctum from bouncing around her head.

Instead, she finds her mind drifting to Bellamy, and his unwavering eyes. His faith in her, that she doesn’t have to be controlled by her past or her family. She’ll have to tell him how grateful she is, when she returns. And maybe he’ll be happy to have her with him, when he goes off on his search.

‘Clarke?’

This interruption, she finds, is not as welcome as Bellamy. Gabriel approaches, pensive face watching as she fires, ignoring him.

‘I don’t get how this relaxes you,’ Gabriel says.

Clarke sighs. ‘I get nervous energy. It’s either this or run around Anya’s estate like a madwoman. At least this is practice.’

‘Hmm,’ Gabriel says, and continues to watch. Clarke sets herself new challenges every time she hits her targets. This one with her eyes closed. This one exactly in the knot of that tree, not above or below. Two bullets one after the other, one at the target, one in the stump next to it.

But Gabriel’s eyes aren’t following her shots. She can feel them sticking to the back of her neck, raising unpleasant goosebumps on her skin. She doesn’t know why it bothers her – Bellamy watches her shoot all the time. But somehow, it’s easier with him.

‘What?’ She finally bursts, impatient. ‘You obviously have something to say.’

Gabriel purses his lips. ‘I think you were reckless today. Too reckless.’

‘I can look after myself.’

He shakes his head. ‘But this is more than just you running headfirst into a problem as usual. This is serious, Clarke. Russell and Simone – they’ll be furious with you. They’ll do something…’

‘Like I don’t know that, Gabriel,’ Clarke says tiredly. ‘But what are they going to do? Execute me? Throw me in a dungeon? Nobody can touch me.’ She squeezes the trigger viciously. Her shot goes wide.

‘They could exile you,’ Gabriel says.

‘And?’ The thought raises an odd feeling in Clarke’s chest. It’s not a positive one – she may hate aspects of Sanctum, but she cares for its people. She cares for Raven. For Monty. For Kane. Even Gabriel. It would be terrible if she couldn’t see them.

‘Clarke! They could take away your royalty! They could stop you being the heir!’

Gabriel doesn’t know of Clarke’s plan to abdicate. She’s never trusted him quite enough to tell him, and it seems she was right.

She presses her lips together. ‘What do you suggest I do, Gabriel? Go back in to Anya, demand one of her charges? I told you, I’m done with it. Nothing is worth that.’

‘I could protect you,’ blurts Gabriel,’ and Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up. She lowers her gun, staring at her friend incredulously.

‘Protect me? Gabriel…’

‘Not physically. Just…politically.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Gabriel takes a deep breath, and then meets her eyes, steady. ‘Marry me.’

Her stomach drops, and if she wasn’t so steady on her feet, she’d stagger. He’d been right. They’d all been right. He’s proposing, like they said he would. If she wasn’t so angry and shocked at Gabriel, she’d be annoyed that she got it so wrong.

‘Gabriel,’ she begins. But he holds up a hand.

‘Listen. I know you said you don’t want to marry. But think about it. I’m loyal to Russell, as far as he knows. It would lessen their anger at you, to know you’ll rise to royalty with a husband they trust.’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘That’s not a good enough reason. Marriage? Gabriel. I meant it. I don’t want that.’

He sighs. ‘I know what you thought five years ago. That Lexa could never truly get over your Grace. And maybe you were right. But I know you, Clarke. I look into your eyes every day, and I don’t care at all! I love you.’

At his last words, Clarke feels herself shrivel up.

‘Gabriel,’ she says softly. Dangerously. ‘You don’t love me. You don’t know me; not like you think you do. I don’t know how much of it was Josephine…’

His eyes flash. ‘It’s not Josephine! She died five years ago!’

‘I killed her five years ago. Maybe you think you love me, Gabriel. Maybe some of it is me. But it started with her. It started with her using my face with her words. That’s who you fell in love with. And I can’t forget that. Not ever.’

Gabriel shakes his head again, a determined frown gathering. ‘You don’t have to love me back, Clarke. I can do that for both of us. But this marriage would be good for you. You’re the princess – you need to marry no matter what your wishes are. And I’m your best suitor. Maybe your _only_ suitor.’

Wow. So it’s gone from love to ‘there’s nobody else who could love you’ in seconds. Anger boils up in Clarke now, and she breathes, closing her eyes, telling the rage to calm. She doesn’t want to lash out. She’s not a monster. She can be reasonable.

‘Gabriel,’ she says again, battling to keep her voice even. ‘I don’t know how many times I can tell you. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone. All my life, I’ve been trapped. My aunt and uncle have owned me.’ She shakes her head vehemently. ‘I can’t let that happen anymore. I would have been trapped with Lexa. I would be trapped with you. I won’t let anyone own me anymore.’

His face has grown stony, but there’s hurt underneath his eyes. He grimaces. ‘Own you? That’s not what marriage is, Clarke!’

‘It would be for me.’ She lets go of the gun she’s been gripping with white knuckles, setting it carefully back in her holster. Then collects the spare ammunition she had left in front of her, gathering it all together to put back in her bag. Determinedly not looking at Gabriel. For her, this conversation is over.

Gabriel’s mercifully silent for a few minutes. He’s still stewing. She may not want to marry him, but Clarke knows him, after all these years. There’s still anger underneath the surface.

But she stays quiet. Gathers her cloak. He says nothing. She ties back her hair and goes to leave the yard. He can stay if he wants. But she’s done.

Unfortunately, he’s not.

‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

Clarke pauses in pushing the gate open, looking back over her shoulder. He’s staring at the ground, fists clenched.

‘Who?’

‘Prince Bellamy.’ He raises his eyes to hers. ‘You’re holding out for him. He just swans in, swashbuckling and handsome, and charms you. Just like that.’ He’s gritting his teeth. ‘What the hell do you see in him?’

Clarke’s shocked, to say the least. Bellamy hasn’t even crossed her thoughts in the last few minutes of arguing. It’s never been about him.

‘Firstly,’ she says, spinning back around. She doesn’t walk any closer though. She aims to leave after this. ‘It doesn’t matter what I see in him. He’s got nothing to do with this. I met him a month ago. I decided not to marry anyone years ago.’

‘But..’

‘Secondly,’ Clarke says. ‘Bellamy knows me better than anyone in that damned castle, and he’s only known me a month. I don’t expect you to understand. But he’s my friend, and I’ll be damned if I let you talk about him like that. You’ve never…you’ve never even…’ She can’t even finish, she’s so mad. Her chest heaves. At this moment, she hates him. Hates that he thinks it’s one iota of okay to even suggest that…

Gabriel is screwing his face up again, eyes mean, almost growling. ‘But that’s what I mean! A month, and he’s got you wrapped around his little finger. Fighting you! I can’t believe it.’

‘He doesn’t have me wrapped around his finger! Who do you think you are…’

‘He’s an ass,’ Gabriel continues, fire in his eyes. ‘An upstart young prince who doesn’t know his place well enough, a thug who isn’t worthy to touch you, even in a fight.’

Clarke’s about to argue back when his words catch up to her, and everything stills for a second. Gabriel keeps talking, but Clarke can’t even hear him. All she can see right now is Bellamy next to her at the table in her chambers, talking about how Gabriel was going to propose. About how Gabriel didn’t like him. And he’d said.

Said those words.

‘What did you say?’ Clarke whispers. Gabriel pauses. She’s interrupted him in the middle of a completely different point, but she doesn’t care.

‘What? That he’s got you wrapped around his little finger?’

‘No. After that.’

Gabriel looks baffled. ‘That he’s an upstart prince? That he doesn’t know his place? That he’s not worthy to touch you?’

‘Yes,’ Clarke says faintly. ‘That.’

‘What about it,’ Gabriel says angrily. ‘None of it is false, he’s…’

‘Gabriel,’ Clarke interrupts. Blood is pumping furiously in her head, she can barely hear anything at this point but those words. When she imagines it, it’s Bellamy speaking them with Gabriel’s voice and vice versa. Exactly the same phrasing. ‘Have you ever told him that?’

‘Does he know that I don’t like him? Of course.’

‘No,’ Clarke says. ‘What I asked you to repeat. Have you told him that? Those exact words?’

Gabriel pauses, frowns. ‘No. I don’t like the man, but he’s a prince, no matter how contrived.’

‘But you’ve thought it before?’ She waves a shaking hand. ‘That he’s an upstart. Thug. Shouldn’t touch me.’

‘Every time I see him.’ Gabriel says bitterly.

And Clarke’s heart breaks.

She walks away from Gabriel, leaving him yelling after her, but she doesn’t care. How can she?

Bellamy. Bellamy, who she trusted. Bellamy, who she liked so much, who understood her, who she can fight and enjoy it, who can challenge her, who told her who she truly was, who comforted her.

He’s a mindreader.

All those times he grinned at her when she thought of him fondly. Times he answered a question she’d thought in her head, before she spoke the words. She’d thought him perceptive, a good reader of her body language. That he just knew her so well, that he guessed what she was about to say.

But’s it’s all been a lie. Because there’s no way Bellamy could have come up with those exact words on his own. And if Gabriel only thought them, then there was no other way…

Clarke thinks of his eyes, beautiful and intense. But she doesn’t feel comforted anymore. She feels violated. She thought he saw right through her, in a way she liked. But she was more right than she knew. He sees right through her, in a way she despises.

She treks blindly back to the quarters Tris showed her, not even knowing how she manages to remember the way, let alone not trip over the trees and roots and stumps that seem to jump in front of her.

The bed is a hammock, swinging from two posts, and Clarke sheds her clothes before collapsing, staring at the canopy above her.

And then she cries. And cries.

And cries.

*

They ride hard back to Sanctum, and Clarke doesn’t talk at all. Not to Kane, and especially not to Gabriel. Her anger at Bellamy may have eclipsed her anger at Gabriel, but it doesn’t mean it’s gone.

Gabriel must have said something to Kane, because he doesn’t question her dark mood. He does everything quickly, and only reminds her briefly of their plan. Clarke can barely even think of it, the situation with Anya and the king and queen. How can she? She knows she should be worried, but all she can feel thriving through her veins is red hot anger. Upset. Betrayal.

As soon as they spot the castle in the distance, Clarke leaves her companions in the dust. All the hurt rages a storm inside her as she gallops through the gates. She doesn’t know how this Grace of Bellamy’s works. Maybe he has to see her to invade her mind. But she hopes he can feel the revulsion, the rage, the fury, all the same.

She hands her horse off to a stablehand and storms towards Raven’s rooms. If he’s anywhere, it will be there, perhaps visiting Wells. Another wave of upset boils up in her as she thinks of their time together. Even after their conversation. He _knew _her past. That Josephine had destroyed her life with her powers. And he’s…

Clarke flings open the door, not even knocking. Raven doesn’t look surprised to see her, and puts her hands up, coaxing. ‘Clarke, wait. Just wait.’

It’s then she sees him. In the corner, leaning with his arms folded, back tense and face stormy. If Clarke didn’t know him better, she’d think he’s angry. But then she sees his eyes, and they’re sad. Hurting. Sorry.

She doesn’t want an apology.

‘Don’t Clarke me,’ she snaps at Raven. She turns to Bellamy, chest heaving, looking at his eyes. He avoids her gaze, and that just makes her angrier. He’s betrayed her, and he can’t even look at her in the face. Coward.

Of course, that’s when his eyes rise reluctantly. Looking her dead on, brown and gold glimmering. And she knows, in that moment, that he did it only because she thought it.

‘Get out of my head.’

‘Clarke,’ Raven says from behind her. ‘Let him explain.’

‘Explain?’ she shakes her head. ‘I trusted you,’ she tells Bellamy, voice breaking. She whirls on Raven. ‘You knew?’

Raven grimaces. ‘He told me after you left. Listen Clarke. It’s not as bad as you think. He’s not Josephine.’

‘Not Josephine,’ Clarke says, trembling. ‘You realise that’s not a high bar to clear?’

‘Clarke,’ says Bellamy, speaking for the first time. The sound of his voice makes her flinch. His face falls further. ‘Clarke, please. I wanted to tell you. Forgive me.’

She shakes her head, backing away. ‘How can I forgive you? I thought…’

‘Clarke please,’ he begs, and she hates the way his eyes spill all his feelings. She doesn’t want to look at all the emotion, the apology. She wants to wallow in her rage. Why can’t he stop? If he was truly sorry, why did he read her mind?

‘Clarke, if I could turn it off, I would. If there was something I could do to never hurt you with this, I’d do it.’

So why doesn’t he? He lied to her. He lied. He lied.

‘I didn’t lie.’

A tremble runs down her spine, leaving her cold. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t answer my thoughts. Mindreader. I can’t believe you’ve done this to me.’ Clarke backs up against the door, and it’s only now that tears threaten to spill. She’s been angry all day, but seeing him in front of her, it just reminds her of what she’s lost.

‘You haven’t lost me. Please, Clarke. Let me explain.’

Clarke’s jaw shakes, but she fixes her eyes above his head. ‘So explain it to me.’

He sighs, drooping down onto a chair. He clutches his head in his hands, but Clarke doesn’t watch. She doesn’t.

‘You and Raven are the only people I’ve ever told, apart from my mother and Wells.’

This startles her from her anger somewhat. Just for a moment. ‘Your sister doesn’t know?’

‘No. She couldn’t keep that secret. She couldn’t not let herself use me. And I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from helping her. It would ruin my life, if she knew.’

It should, thinks Clarke. She dares to drop her eyes down, and she sees he’s understood her thought.

But he doesn’t get angry, only presses his lips together. ‘Clarke. You can’t tell anyone. No matter what you think of me. You can hate me. But don’t tell anyone else. Please.’

She steps towards him, and he closes his eyes. Rage storms again. Everything she thinks, he’ll know. How can she let him go out in the world, deceiving people? If she trusted him, how many others did? His own sister couldn’t trust him. He knew their _thoughts._

‘It doesn’t work how you think. I can’t read your mind, Clarke. That’s not my Grace. You think I’m perceptive, and you’re right. That’s what my Grace is. I sense people, their intentions towards me. The only part of it that involves the mind is because…’

‘You read it!’

‘No,’ he bursts. Only now can she see there’s frustration there. Like he doesn’t know how to explain it. Like he’s angry she’s not getting it. ‘I perceive anything that’s to do with me. And that means if people think of me, I sense those thoughts. I don’t read anything, I’m not invading. They come to me whether I like them or not.’

Excuses, is all Clarke can think. If it wasn’t that bad, why did he hide it? Why did he let her trust him, only to rip it all away?

He’s within reaching distance. For a moment, a single moment, Clarke wants to slap him. For betraying her. For hurting her. For breaking her heart.

But she doesn’t. She hopes he can read her mind now, know how she’s feeling. Because she doesn’t want to talk to him anymore. She doesn’t want to see him. Those eyes, those damn eyes, just stare at her. She closes her own.

‘I trusted you,’ she manages to say, broken, before she turns on her heel. She leaves, slamming the door and running to her quarters, sobbing into her hands.

*

Her rooms are too still, when she arrives. She collapses onto her favourite chair and cries some more. She hates it, hates all of it. Hates all of them. Russell and Simone. Josephine. Gabriel. Raven, for taking his side. Bellamy, for doing this to her.

It takes a while, but she finally gets to the stage of hiccupping. She’s all out of tears.

Clarke goes to her bathroom, splashes her face as she looks into the mirror. Her blonde hair is wild – she hadn’t been bothered to put it up properly today, in her usual princess style.

Princess. Even thinking of that word hurts now, even though she was a princess long before he arrived.

She’s calm when Raven finally comes to her rooms, like she knew her friend would. Clarke lets her in without saying anything, just sits back down on her chair balefully.

‘Come to make his excuses?’

Raven’s mouth twists. ‘You know he had no choice, right? He’s never told anyone. Honestly, I was surprised he told me.’

‘Why did he?’

‘Because he wanted to tell you, and he wanted to be honest.’

Clarke scoffs. ‘So he wanted to make himself feel better.’

Raven huffs and sits down across from Clarke. ‘What could he have done? He’s kept this secret his entire life. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have had a life. Imagine growing up with everyone shunning you, avoiding you, fearing you. Never ever having proper friends.’

Clarke raises her eyes to meet Raven’s, glaring. It only takes a moment for her friend to understand – she’s smart, after all. Her eyes soften.

‘I’m sorry. Of course you can imagine that. Of course you know.’ She sighs.

There’s a silence. Raven chews her lip, seemingly at a loss.

‘How can I be around him, Raven?’ Clarke finally asks. ‘I feel sick. All I see is her.’

Raven gets up and sits back down next to Clarke, wrapping her arm around her. ‘Josephine was cruel. Evil. And her Grace was different. I know they both involve the mind, but. She chose to use hers, and to use it for awful things.’ She squeezes Clarke’s shoulders. ‘Bellamy can’t choose to use his. It just happens to him. And he uses it to protect himself. To protect others. There’s a reason he likes you, Clarke. Eden is exactly the sort of thing he’s good at. That he wants to do. To use his Grace for.’

Clarke rests her head on Raven’s shoulder. The anger has dissipated now, and she just feels tired. Still upset, but weary, instead of enraged. ‘Why can’t he tell me this himself?’

Raven snorts. ‘He wants to. But will you let him talk to you?’

Clarke’s silent. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t know if I want to see him.’

Her friend knows her well, and she gives her a reprieve, changing the subject. Clarke’s thankful. ‘I ran into Kane.’

She stiffens.

‘It’s bad, isn’t it? They aren’t going to look past this.’

‘No,’ says Clarke. ‘They won’t. I defied them, pretty blatantly.’ She breathes out. ‘For Eden. For me.’

Because Bellamy had told her she could.

Raven doesn’t need to have Bellamy’s Grace to know what she’s not saying. She hugs Clarke tighter. ‘You need to talk to him.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s your last chance.’

Clarke extracts herself from Raven’s arm, sitting up to stare at her friend. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s leaving, remember? You’ll regret it if you don’t talk to him. Trust me,’ she adds bitterly.

Clarke knows she’s referencing her own past and has just enough presence of mind to squeeze Raven’s hand to acknowledge it. But her mind snags on something else.

‘He’s leaving?’

Raven looks at her like she’s an idiot. ‘Yes. Like you discussed, remember?’

Clarke doesn’t know how to feel. Her head tells her to stay away, that she doesn’t want to see him. But her heart tells her that she doesn’t want him to leave without her.

‘He’d leave without me?’ She manages to ask, even though she registers how it sounds.

Raven gives her a look. An arched eyebrow. ‘And you think you hate him?’

Clarke buries her head in her hands again. Does she hate him? No, is her first, immediate response. But she’s still so angry, even if it’s calmed to a dull roar now. A low hum of upset. He still betrayed her trust.

Her friend gets up, stretching out her bad leg and patting Clarke on the shoulder. ‘I’m sending him in. You need to talk.’

Clarke doesn’t protest. Her friend is right. But it doesn’t mean the pit of dread in her stomach doesn’t yawn, growling. She doesn’t know what’s going to feed it. Hate, or regret.

*

Bellamy knocks at the door half an hour later.

Come in, she thinks, and tries not to let it enrage her, that he must listen to the thought, because her door eases open. She’s already standing, looking out the window, her back to him. She doesn’t want to look at him. She’s pretty sure it’s not how it works but looking in his eyes makes her feel more vulnerable to his Grace.

‘Clarke, I’m sorry.’ His voice is rough, hoarse. Like he’s also been crying. It doesn’t comfort her like she thought it would.

‘Sorry that you can read my mind?’ she asks, biting. ‘Or sorry that I found out?’

There’s a pause.

‘Both.’

Well, at least he’s being honest.

‘I told you. If I could stop it from happening, I would. Especially with you.’

She doesn’t know how to answer that, so she just stares determinedly out the window. The sun is setting, and she concentrates on the colours bleeding together. Pink, orange, blue. Anything but thinking of him.

‘How did you figure it out?’ Bellamy finally asks.

‘Can’t you read my mind and find out?’

There’s a huge sigh, and when he speaks, it almost sounds grumpy. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Not how it works, Princess.’ She winces. His voice catches, and somehow, she knows he regrets using the nickname. ‘I can only know the thought if it’s about me, and only if you’re actively thinking of it. I can’t choose what to perceive. My Grace tells me, no matter if I want it to or not.’

Clarke’s tired. It’s difficult to not look at him, and she hates that. ‘It was Gabriel,’ she says shortly. ‘We were arguing…he brought you up. And he said the same exact phrase you’d mentioned before, when you told me he hated you. That with other things…it finally added up.’

She turns around now, leaning against the windowsill. If she won’t look him in the eyes, she’ll stare at the table he’s collapsed at, boring a hole in the wood. She doesn’t notice his weary posture, his large hands clasped together, rings shining. She doesn’t.

‘I’m good at hiding my Grace, Clarke.’ He says, soft. ‘But I’ve been careless with you. I didn’t want to hide it from you. Not when I got to know you.’

Why didn’t he tell her then? Why wasn’t he just upfront with her, instead of making her find out this way?

‘Because I wanted to be your friend. And you hate mindreaders. And I knew you’d hate me. I was selfish. I’m sorry.’

‘Why are you reading my mind?’ Clarke bursts. She can’t believe he still does it, despite knowing how much she can’t stand it.

‘I told you,’ Bellamy says, frustration lacing his voice. ‘I won’t hide it anymore. Because I can’t help it. It’s not…it’s not as bad as you think, Clarke.’

‘Then explain it properly! Explain how it’s not so bad! Nevermind that my thoughts aren’t my own, huh? After everything I’ve been through. I thought you understood.’ Against her will, in her anger, her eyes meet his. They shine through her, and she slams her eyelids shut.

He sighs, and Clarke listens to his finger trace a line in the table.

‘Like I told you before. My mother calls it perception. I guess it’s meant to protect me, in a way. I feel it when people have intentions towards me. It’s why we fight so well together. You’re fast, but I know what your next move will be, because it’s _about _me. I can sense your body in space around me. I know when people want to sneak up on me. I know where people are if they’re close enough, even if I can’t see them. I know if they intend to lie to me. I guess in that way, it’s useful.’

‘Useful,’ Clarke shakes her head. ‘Yet you can lie to everyone. Deceive people.’

‘Like anyone else can,’ Bellamy shoots back. ‘Clarke, I swear, I can only tell people’s intentions. If you lie to me about something else, I can only know it’s a lie, not what the truth is. If I close my eyes, and you ran around in circles thinking about sponge cake, I’d only know you were running. I’d have no idea what you were thinking about.’

Clarke chews her lip, looking back down at the table. ‘What about when we met? You knew you could trust me. Why?’

‘When we met in the tunnels, I had no idea what to expect. Not until you noticed my rings, and you knew I was Arcadian. That made you pause. You weren’t sure about me because of that one fact. Then you were afraid I’d hurt someone you intended to rescue. But I couldn’t tell who that was, I only suspected it might be Wells. But that hunch made me trust you. If me being Arcadian made you hesitate, it was enough for my Grace. And it was right, eventually. You were a friend.’

Clarke flinches. ‘You’re not my friend.’

‘If we’re not friends, Clarke,’ Bellamy croaks. ‘Then I have no friends.’ There’s a thump, and Clarke watches as his fist shakes the table. Now he’s angry. ‘Is that a life you’d want for me? No friends? Everyone avoiding me? People using me for their own gain? That’s what would happen, if the King found out, or my sister, or anyone other than who I trust.’

That’s what my life has been, Clarke thinks. Her whole life. First, a piece to be married off. Then, a lady to be manipulated. Now, tool to hurt others.

Again, she flicks her gaze up to his eyes. But they haven’t changed. And that’s when she believes him.

He can’t read her whole mind. Because Bellamy betrayed her, but she doesn’t think he pretended to be anything else but who he was, and that’s someone who cares more than anyone else Clarke’s ever known. And she wasn’t thinking of him just now, and she knows that if he knew her previous thoughts, it would shine in his eyes. The empathy.

Clarke closes her eyes and thinks of white. The colour. She thinks of daisies, of one of Josephine’s old dresses, of clouds. Of just the colour.

She can feel him watching her, a presence before her. Is that what his Grace tells him, just to a heightened degree? The keen senses her own Grace gives her, but powered up to an unbelievable level?

Shit. She’s thinking of him. She schools her mind back to white. Blankness. Nothing.

‘Can you read my mind now?’ She asks.

‘You aren’t thinking of me, so no. Sometimes I can tell if someone actively doesn’t want to think of me. Sometimes my mother, or Wells, does that. But I got nothing from you then, not after you thought of my Grace.’

Clarke opens her eyes again. His eyes haven’t left her. The brown and gold don’t seem so invasive now. She wonders if she just has to get used to it. ‘So the fighting grace is a lie, right? To cover for your real one?’

Bellamy nods. ‘Yes. I’m a good fighter. O…Octavia and I both are. She’d be better than me, if not for my Grace. My mother leapt on it as soon as she realised our skills. It’s kept me safe for years.’

Clarke bites her lip, thinking of their first meeting. ‘Does it make mistakes?’

‘How do you mean?’

Her curiosity gets the better of her. She should still be upset, but it’s been replaced by a powerful need to _know_. Know more about it. So that it can’t hurt her.

‘Our first fight, I whacked you in the temple. Didn’t your Grace see that coming?’

Bellamy’s face breaks open, the misery shedding off for a moment. A smile, dimples and all. Clarke hates that she’s glad to see it. ‘Yes. I knew at the last second. But you were so quick, I couldn’t dodge.’ He shakes his head ruefully. ‘I’ve never come across a fighter like you before.’

Clarke presses her lips together. She can’t imagine having all that information in her head while she fights. She’s used to just following what her head tells her to do next, immediately. ‘How do you keep track of it all?’

‘It’s overwhelming,’ he answers immediately. ‘I know you know the feeling. It’s always changing.’ He sighs. ‘When I was young, I drowned in it. It was hard to hide from my sister when I was raising her. I knew when she was lying to me. It became hard to sort the relevant thoughts from the irrelevant. I still grapple with it now. Crowds are still difficult, even more so if focus is on me. The closer people are, the more I can sense them.’

A thought strikes Clarke. ‘How close?’

Bellamy shifts uncomfortably. ‘It varies,’ he says. ‘Depends on how well I know them. The better I know someone, the longer the range. I can feel my sister from a long way away.’

‘What’s my range?’ Clarke asks quietly. She’s not even sure if she wants to know the answer. His eyes trace her face, as if searching for something. It still hurts, even if the impact has lessened. His eyes are still beautiful.

Fuck. She banishes that thought from her head again.

‘Longer than most,’ Bellamy finally answers, voice gentle and low. ‘I felt your rage at me as you rode into Sanctum. I knew you had found out. I knew as soon as you crested the ridge.’

To her relief, it doesn’t anger her. Just mines more curiosity. But after thinking of his eyes too much, she turns back around to the window, watching the darkness descend on the courtyard.

‘What else can you sense? What about things? Buildings? Rocks? Plants?’ She has to distract herself, when she’s with him.

‘Clarke,’ Bellamy says. His voice is serious, heavy. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

‘What about animals?’ Clarke asks. ‘Or is it just humans?’

‘Please, Clarke. Turn around and look at me properly.’

Clarke’s heart stutters. ‘Why?’ But she turns around anyway, though she keeps her eyes on his hair, his shirt, his hands. Not his eyes.

‘Because,’ Bellamy swallows, and she watches his throat. ‘Because I don’t want to never see your eyes again.’

If anything in their conversation takes her breath, it’s that. She flicks her gaze away, ignoring the tingling feeling creeping up her arms and into her heart.

‘I’m leaving for Mount Weather tomorrow.’

Clarke says nothing.

‘I need to find out who ordered Wells’ kidnapping. I don’t think it was any of the five western kingdoms. I think it has something to do with Polaris. So I need to go poke around Mount Weather again.’

Clarke’s tired, but she’s intrigued despite herself. All her focus has been on this revelation, but she likes Wells, and Eden is important. And she still trusts Bellamy’s intuition. Perhaps she should trust it even more, knowing his Grace is partly behind it.

‘Polaris?’

‘Something’s not right. It’s the only kingdom that doesn’t have a reason, but that just makes all the things I’m hearing weirder. And I know Luna and she’s not like how you described. She doesn’t hide away in rooms. Especially with Madi. It doesn’t add up.’

Clarke’s conflicted. ‘But Queen Alie is wonderful,’ she says, doubting. ‘I just don’t know how she could have anything to do with it.’

Bellamy sighs. ‘I don’t know either. Maybe it’s not her. But that’s what I need to find out. I have to leave.’

Her heart clenches. He was leaving her behind. A part of her snarls. Good. That means he can’t read her mind.

So why does her heart ache at the thought of him riding away?

‘Come with me,’ Bellamy says suddenly. Her eyes snap to his, and she’s immediately trapped. His eyes are desperate, emotional. ‘Screw your kingdom. Screw everyone else. Let’s just go. I know you hate it here.’ He huffs. ‘Not from your mind. From you. I know you, Clarke.’

Clarke doesn’t know how to answer.

‘Please… just consider it, Clarke.’ He blinks rapidly. ‘I don’t want to let you go just yet.’

Her heart’s beating wildly in her chest.

‘I need you. Together, we can figure this out. If you’re my friend, please come with me.’

Her hands clasp together, and she wants to be shy, look away. But she doesn’t. ‘Doesn’t your Grace tell you if I’m your friend?’

Bellamy’s eyes swirl, and his head shakes minutely. ‘I can’t know that,’ he tells Clarke. ‘If you don’t know yourself, Princess.’

The nickname stings enough that she manages to tear her gaze away. He’s right. She doesn’t know.

But before she can say anything, Bellamy rises from the table suddenly, glancing at the door.

‘Someone’s here,’ he says, three seconds before the knock. She throws him a glare, but it’s barely heated. She can see how knowing things like that would be useful, she thinks grudgingly.

Myles is standing in the doorway, nervous, his arm raised to knock again. He probably hadn’t expected her to open it so soon. It all comes back to her now. Anya. Russell and Simone. Gabriel and Kane. They would have received the story from them by now. She’ll be in trouble.

‘Lady Princess,’ Myles trembles, his eyes darting anywhere but hers. ‘Sorry to interrupt! But they request your presence. The King and Queen, I mean. They said to tell you they’ll send the guard to fetch you if you don’t come.’ He looks terrified that he’s going to face her wrath for delivering such a message. Clarke wishes that the servants had learned by now that she never shoots the messenger.

‘Okay,’ she tells him. ‘Thank you, Myles. I’ll change and come presently.’

‘The King said now,’ squeaks the steward. ‘He was very angry.’

Clarke sighs. ‘I’m dressed for the road. He can send his guard if he wants, but I’m wearing something halfway decent. Tell them I’ll be there.’ He nods quickly and scampers off, and Clarke closes the door with a sigh.

Bellamy rounds on her straight away, eyes alarmed, body tense. Somehow, she’s not surprised.

‘What’s this about?’

She ignores him and walks into her dressing room, flicks through the dresses in her wardrobe before finding the blue one she’s always liked. It might make a statement, if she can threaten them without her breeches. She almost laughs, thinking about it. _Wanheda_, wearing this simple blue dress, facing off with the rulers of Sanctum. She doesn’t doubt they’ll have the entire guard assembled.

Clarke doesn’t need his Grace to feel Bellamy’s concern and impatience radiate through the door.

‘I disobeyed,’ she calls, while she changes into the dress. ‘I refused to be controlled anymore.’

His voice reeks of sympathy and understanding, even through the door, even with just a few words.

‘And? What did you do?’

‘I refused to let either of two innocent kids get married off to Lord Ryker. I refused to torture an old friend. I refused to be their dog.’

She finishes with the dress, brushes through her hair, and emerges into the room. He’s waiting, half sitting on the table, and she tries not to flush as his eyes sweep her up and down. Clarke wishes for a moment their Graces were reversed, so she could know what he’s thinking. His eyes, for once, are unreadable. Then she realises these thoughts involve him, and she looks to the floor, embarrassed.

‘You look good, Clarke,’ is all he says, though, his voice soft. The absence of princess hurts now.

‘Should I take a weapon?’ She asks instead, going over to her wall where she keeps an assortment of daggers and knives.

‘What will they do?’ Bellamy asks, concerned.

Clarke turns back from the wall after a moment, and sits down nervously in a chair, looking back up at him.

‘I don’t know. But I’m afraid if they threaten me, I’ll lash out. I could kill them.’ She struggles to breathe for second. ‘I don’t want to be a murderer anymore, Bellamy. And I couldn’t be allowed in the kingdom anymore if I committed regicide,’ she adds. It’s a bad joke, and he doesn’t laugh.

He sits down in the chair next to her, leaning in. He doesn’t touch her, but she can feel his warmth.

‘Clarke, listen to me. You’re strong. So much stronger than those assholes. I believe in you – follow your head like you always do, but also follow your heart. It’s strong too. I know you can make the right decision for yourself and your people. They may be the King and Queen, but you’re in charge of yourself.’

Her voice trembles. ‘How do you have so much faith in me?’

He smiles, shrugs.

‘I have a lot of faith to give. And you deserve mine.’

Clarke considers him in that moment, as he leans in, all protection, all care. Gold and brown eyes earnest and shining with belief in her.

In that long second, she forgives him. Because somehow, despite it all, despite his Grace, she still trusts him.

And now he’ll know that too.

Clarke looks away. ‘I have to go.’

‘I know,’ he says, and then, to her surprise, grabs her hand. It’s burning, of course. His hands are large, and the rings are a weird sort of textural comfort against her nervous hands. ‘But whatever happens, we can figure it out after. Together.’ He smiles, strained. ‘If… if you want.’

She throws herself into his arms and hugs him. He’s surprised. So’s she.

But she doesn’t regret it. He hugs back, arms tight around her, and she tucks her chin into his shoulder. Behind him, the door squeaks open. She tenses, but he doesn’t, and she guesses that he already knows who it is.

Raven’s eyes are sparkling. ‘Well there’s something I didn’t think I’d see.’ Clarke glares at her, and her friend sobers. ‘Sorry to break it up. But Russell is getting angry, Clarke.’

Clarke withdraws from Bellamy, reluctant. His hands still wrap around her wrists. ‘I’d better not keep him waiting,’ she says.

He looks back at her, eyes steady. Clarke’s forgiven him, but she’s still in turmoil. It’s been a lot of upheaval, in the last twenty-four hours. She still feels like she’s lost, spinning in her life. She’s not sure how the next hour will play out.

But Bellamy nods at her and she feels calmer. Clarke’s as ready as she’ll ever be.

She goes to face the king and queen.

*

The throne room is deadly quiet as Clarke steps through the door. Her blue dress swishes around her calves, but she ignores the strange sensation. She takes in the set up – Russell and Simone are on their twin thrones at the end of the room, dressed in their complete Sanctum regalia. It’s absolute overkill – they were Josie’s parents after all, with their theatrics.

Their golden coronets glint in the firelight. Torches have been lit all around the edge of the room, plunging the hall into deep shadows. And in between each light is three guards, forming a chain that rings the room.

Above her aunt and uncle is the balcony, and it’s there they’ve placed their gunners. Clarke can see their fingers twitching even from down on the floor. They’re ready to draw at a command.

It’s funny – she’s always regarded her aunt and uncle as conniving, cunning people. Manipulators. Smart.

But the way they’ve set up the room is appalling. It’s now that Clarke realises why Sanctum stays neutral among the kingdoms – not only are they in the middle of everyone, but they have no idea how to structure a battle.

Clarke walks silently to the centre of the room, stilling at ten yards away. Simone and Russell look down their noses at her, contempt written all over their faces. But it doesn’t bother Clarke anymore.

‘You asked for me, Highnesses?’ she says pleasantly.

Russell draws his eyebrows together. ‘Do you know why we’ve called for you, Clarke?’ No title. She really was in trouble.

But she keeps herself calm. ‘I think you’re going to tell me anyway,’ she responds.

Simone purses her lips. ‘You’ve disobeyed us. We sent you to complete a task, yet you arrive home without gold and without a bride for Ryker. Kane and Lord Santiago tell us you refused to punish Lady Anya for her treason too.’

Clarke stays silent. They haven’t asked a question.

‘Is that correct, Clarke?’ Russell asks, low and dangerous.

‘Yes, Highness.’

His jaw clenches. ‘And why, may I ask, did you not complete your task?’

Clarke raises her chin. ‘I didn’t agree with it.’

‘Didn’t agree with it?’

‘That’s right.’

Simone makes a disgusted sound. ‘You are not under our guardianship to disagree with us. We didn’t make you heir after you killed our daughter to _disagree_ with us.’

Clarke can feel herself trembling, but she focuses on her words. ‘I did not ask you to make me princess, aunt and uncle. And Josephine brought her fate upon herself.’

Her aunt gasps, and goes to rise out of her seat, but her husband’s hand stills her.

‘So this is what you have decided? That you will no longer heed our orders?’

She takes a deep breath before saying the words she’s always wanted to. ‘That’s right. I am no longer yours to command.’

Russell doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he’s resigned. He knew it would come to this eventually, Clarke realises.

‘Well, Lady Clarke Griffin. We have no choice but to strip you of your royalty. Unfortunately,’ he scowls, ‘you were born a lady. But you are no longer the assassin of Sanctum, and you are no longer heir to the throne.’

The relief Clarke feels well up inside her is unwelcome. She can’t celebrate this now. She has to get out of here with everyone unscathed. Even if she hates them. Raven isn’t named heir yet, and she isn’t ready.

‘If that is your decision, Highness.’

Russell’s eyes narrow. ‘It is. But it is not the only one.’

Clarke stills.

‘I cannot ignore the damage you have done to Kane and Lord Santiago, nor can I ignore the impudence of your attitude. You will be punished.’

‘And how,’ Clarke says, and he frowns, not expecting her to talk. ‘are you expecting to punish me?’

Simone straightens now, glaring daggers. ‘You will be taken to the dungeons, to await a decision among the upper Lords and Ladies of Sanctum. The Lees, Lady Priya and Lord Ryker, Lord Gabriel, Lady Miranda – they will be all called here to decide your fate.’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘I don’t think you understand my question, aunt. How do you intend to get me to the dungeons?’ She cocks her head, enjoying the uncertainty dawn. ‘I know you don’t watch many of my fights. But the only person _possibly _capable of taking me to the dungeons is Prince Bellamy Blake, and I heavily doubt he will land on your side with this. And he may not even succeed at that.’

Russell purses his lips. ‘We have a trained guard…’

‘I have been defeating your guard in fights since I was sixteen years old,’ Clarke says, wanting to laugh.

Simone sighs. ‘Clarke, I don’t think you understand.’ She waves an imperious hand. ‘We have the entire guard here, surrounding you. Guns ready to fire.’

‘I don’t think _you _understand. Either of you.’ Clarke sighs. ‘If you order your gunners to shoot, I will dodge. This hall is small. The bullet will hit one of the guards. I will have that guard’s sword and dagger in my hands in five seconds. Sure,’ she shrugs. ‘The others could surround me. But only a few at a time. And a few I can kill.’

Her aunt and uncle exchange a look, but Clarke powers on.

‘Your guards will be subdued in a matter of minutes. I can throw knives up into the hearts of your gunners if they’re still shooting, if they don’t duck. I don’t think, in all the time I’ve been your violent slave, that you ever understood my power.’

Russell goes to speak, but Clarke raises a hand. It feels like freedom, knowing she has the power right now. The power to control the entire situation.

‘And if my Grace is killing,’ she says. ‘What do you think would happen if I made the first move? I can disarm Jade there,’ she nods to their personal guard, hovering at their side. ‘In a matter of seconds. I’ll have a knife to your throat, Aunt Simone, and you wouldn’t want the shooters to miss then, would you?’ She gazes directly into Russell’s clear, piercing eyes. ‘Do you want to risk your wife’s life, Uncle Russell?’

She watches him swallow, eyeing them hard, deliberate. She can see Simone’s decision in her eyes – she doesn’t care what happens. She’d be happy to take down Clarke however she can.

It’s the danger there that readies Clarke. She should have brought a knife after all. Should have gotten Bellamy to tell her what was in the throne room so she could avoid it altogether.

But she’s here now, and she’s ready to kill them. If she has to.

She doesn’t want to.

Russell hasn’t answered her, still looking unsure, eyes darting between her, his wife, the guards. Wondering if Clarke’s bluffing.

She’s not.

But she decides to put them out of their misery anyway.

‘I know you won’t believe me, but I am sorry for Josephine. I’m not sure if I ever told you that, all those years ago.’ She takes a step back, and Simone’s hand twitches. Clarke watches the guards, the gunners, for any sort of movement. But Russell is still.

‘You may be the King. You may be the Queen. But I am Lady Clarke Griffin. And I am in charge of myself. Nobody is getting hurt today.’

She takes another step back, and another. Simone looks angry, but Clarke just watches Russell, and sees the resignation slowly creep into his eyes. The knowledge that he can’t control her.

And so she turns, listening keenly for any movement, any sign they’ll attack while her back is turned, but knowing in her heart it isn’t coming.

Clarke walks out of the throne room with her head held high, not daring to look back, lest she betray how close she was to letting her rage unleash.

_Wanheda_ no more, she thinks, and smiles.

She’s free.


	2. two chemicals erupting in thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke set off on their journey to discover the true motive behind Wells' kidnapping. Clarke struggles with getting used to Bellamy and the idea that she can't always protect herself. They're heading into danger they've never faced before, and it will take the strength of their Graces and their connection to each other to confront Queen Alie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thank you for being so patient! With university and life in the way, writing this monster of a fic becomes difficult. But I'm so glad I have chapter 2 here for you, and I hope you like it.  
Note the changed rating and added tags!  
Chapter 3 is in the works, I promise. I will finish this fic if it kills me.  
Also thanks to ro again for being so patient with me but also bugging me so that I finished it. Thanks for doing your pre-read so quick, you're the best.

The sun is barely rising as they ready to leave in the morning. As much as Clarke would love to humiliate her aunt and uncle by leaving at midday in a spectacular fashion, it’s easier if she and Bellamy avoid the trouble.

Besides, she wants to say goodbye properly.

Raven doesn’t look happy at having to wake before sunrise, but Clarke knows that behind her tired eyes and huge yawns, her friend doesn’t want to miss her leaving. And it’s easier that there’s no other audience but her and Monty, who seems to be packing the harvest of an entire garden in one of Clarke’s saddlebags.

‘Do I actually need,’ she leans over to squint at the labels. ‘Essence of Sabra? Jobi nuts, really?’

‘Hey, you might get a stomach ache. Sabra is the cure for that.’ Raven defends. ‘And you and Blake could use some fun.’

‘I wouldn’t really call jobi nuts fun, Raven,’ Clarke snorts. But Monty refuses to let her take them out.

‘You never know,’ he tells her gravely.

Clarke just shakes her head. They’re overprotective. ‘Did you pack us some shampoo too? Hair product? Wouldn’t want the prince to look out of form.’

From across the yard where he’s leading his horse out towards them, Bellamy sticks his middle finger up at her. Clarke’s within his Grace’s range, after all. She’s not sure if she’ll ever get used to that.

‘You will,’ Bellamy says as he arrives, one large hand soothing the horse next to him.

Clarke guesses he might be right, because she no longer feels a surge of revulsion when he replies to her thoughts about him. Just unease. It can only go up from there, right?

All too soon, Clarke has performed her sixth, seventh, twentieth check over their luggage. They can never be too prepared, but she’s delaying the goodbye, of course. She leaves Sanctum all the time, but it’s never felt so permanent. She’s not sure she’ll ever be welcome in the castle again, not even nominally as a Lady.

‘We’d better head off,’ Bellamy says to her gently. She nods stiffly, before turning to her friends. Her friends, who’ve had her back as long as she’s needed them. She’ll miss them so much.

‘Look after Wells,’ she tells Monty as she hugs him. ‘And Jasper. And keep talking to Lady Harper, I know she likes you.’

‘We’ll be fine, Clarke,’ he reassures her, but he gives her an extra squeeze, so she knows he’s listening.

She turns to Raven, then, and suddenly wishes they were alone. It’s not like it should be this dramatic, but it still feels momentous.

Bellamy clears his throat. ‘Hey, Monty, weren’t you going to give me some of those maps of the Polaris mountains?’

‘Hm? Oh! Yes, we’d better go grab them. Wells can give you one last warning to be careful.’

They’re not subtle, but Clarke’s grateful anyway.

‘I’m gonna miss you,’ Clarke tells Raven, and her friend draws her into a hug. It’ll never be the same after this. Wherever Clarke settles after they straighten this Wells mystery out, it probably can’t be here. And Raven, with her leg, doesn’t travel as much as she’d like to.

‘Don’t be a stranger, Griffin.’

Clarke draws back to look at her. ‘Don’t say no when they offer.’

‘Clarke…’

‘I’m serious,’ Clarke insists. ‘You’re the next logical heir. And you’ll be great at it. I know you’d rather be queen straight away but hey. Royals have benefits.’

Raven rolls her eyes. ‘Never thought I’d be the princess.’

Clarke shrugs. ‘Out of everyone I know, if I had to choose one to be queen? I’d pick you first.’

‘Of course you would, I’m awesome.’

Clarke laughs and hugs her again, tighter this time.

‘Ugh, get off me, Clarke,’ Raven complains, but she’s smiling. And Clarke swears she spots some moisture in the corner of her eyes.

Raven does one last check of the horses before Bellamy and Monty return, Bellamy raising his eyebrows at Clarke. Asking if she’s good.

Fine, she thinks, wondering if he can sense that response, and he shrugs. They swing up onto the horses and Raven and Monty walk them to the gate. Clarke’s heart beats a little faster, seeing the woods in the distance, knowing that whatever’s to come, she’s free to do what she likes now.

It scares her.

‘Alright,’ Raven says. ‘Be careful. Look after each other.’

‘Of course,’ says Bellamy. They seem to have a silent exchange, which ends with Raven giving a decisive nod. Clarke doesn’t bother to ask.

‘Bye, Raven. Bye, Monty,’ Clarke manages to say, and then they’re turning around and heading off, trotting off eastwards. She wills herself not to turn around, but she gives up when they’re almost at the tree line. Swivelling in her saddle, she turns to wave, and with her keen eyes she spots the motion of their arms waving back, even in the low dawn light.

*

Bellamy doesn’t disturb the silence that’s fallen between them as they gallop along, and Clarke’s grateful for it. She knows he’s probably itching to talk, to discuss their next moves, to reassure her about his Grace. But she wants time to process it all right now.

She also knows that now she’s thought that, he knows how she feels, and is probably giving her more space because of it.

It’s a lot to take in.

It’s harder when their destination isn’t the usual short day’s ride away, or just a single overnight journey. No, to get to the northern villages of the Mount Weather, it will be several days on the horses.

A particular small village named Tondisi is their target. There’s an inn there that’s the hub of information between Mount Weather, Azgeda, Sanctum, and Polaris. Kane’s contacts tended to hang out there, and he’d suggested it as their best shot at getting some insider information about the Wallaces.

It’s true that they could stop at the mountain itself, where the Wallaces hole themselves up every time there’s even a minor outbreak of the kingdom’s sickness. But Bellamy had shaken his head at the suggestion. Talking to them wouldn’t get them far, if they’d be welcome at all given who they are.

Clarke’s still trying to get used to her status. The story of her defiance might be kept under wraps for now (she’s sure the king and queen won’t want the embarrassment), but sooner or later the gossip will spread. Wanheda had defied her master.

For now, though, she and Bellamy make a formidable, if conspicuous, duo. Both royals, both Gracelings, both with a metallic eye and a reputation for fighting.

It was Bellamy who’d suggested angling it to their favour. Let the people wonder at Clarke’s bright hair, his strange Arcadian garb – perhaps word would get around that they were looking for Wells.

Of course, they already know where Wells is. But the deception serves them well – they’ll know who’s lying about his location. What they actually need to know is the motive, the power behind this cryptic chess play – and Bellamy has become fixated on Polaris as a prime suspect.

‘None of it adds up,’ he tells her as they start making camp for the night. They’re off the track slightly, in a small clearing. Clarke already has a fire going, and Bellamy’s skinning the rabbit she’d caught just a few minutes ago. ‘Luna acting like that? Keeping Madi with her? It’s too strange to be a coincidence.’

‘You’ve said,’ Clarke tells him, because he has. She doesn’t know what the point of going over the same issue over and over is. The only thing that will ease his worry is finding answers.

Bellamy frowns over the rabbit, worrying his lip. Clarke watches as he bites down and tries not to be fascinated with the shape of his mouth, the dimples still present even when he’s not smiling.

And then she chastises herself. She has to stop thinking of details like that, especially when each one is available to him.

She distracts herself by thinking of other things. Raven. How Wells is doing. Wondering if Monty and Harper will get together while she’s away. Hoping Kane’s still proud of her.

Clarke’s so busy with thinking of other things that she doesn’t notice Bellamy has continued with his deliberations. Not until his rant takes a pause. It still takes her a few seconds to notice the silence, and she looks up from where she’s been staring into the fire.

‘What?’

‘What can I do to make you comfortable, Princess?’

She finds herself defensive. ‘What do you mean? I’m fine.’

‘You weren’t listening.’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘No, you weren’t.’

Clarke purses her lips. ‘If you can only sense thoughts about yourself, how would you know?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Because if you were truly listening, you’d just be thinking about how wrong I am.’

She has to say, he has a bit of a point.

But Bellamy sobers. ‘It’s okay that you’re not thinking of me. I would prefer not to know your thoughts. I hope you know that.’

‘I do,’ Clarke tells him truthfully. It just trips her up sometimes. That she has to monitor her own mind, constantly be checking in with herself. That sometimes he _knows_ things and she’s unsure whether it’s his Grace or a natural sort of intuitiveness.

Bellamy cocks his head. ‘Can I help with any of it, Princess?’

The return of the nickname soothes her – ironic, given the title has chafed on her for so many years. But it’s a return of normalcy to her upended life.

‘I don’t know,’ Clarke says. She drops her chin to her knees, wrapping her arms around her shins. ‘I guess I just have to get used to you.’

He nods. ‘I get that.’ The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. ‘Any way I can speed it up? What if I tell you what my Grace tells me? So you know how much is me and how much is…’

His sentence trails off, as he frowns, unsure. Clarke thinks she knows what he means to say. How much is him, and how much is his Grace? But what did that mean really? It’s hard for her to separate her Grace from herself – where did it end, and she begin? She imagines it’s similar – if not worse – for him.

She taps a finger against her chin, eyeing him. ‘Only when it’s from me.’

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Your Grace is your Grace. I don’t have a right to know everything in your head, just because you come across a small portion of mine.’

He nods, serious, and she feels a rush of thankfulness. It’s incredible really, that he’s so eager to do anything to make her feel better. Most Gracelings are protective and quiet about their skills. And Bellamy has been, his whole life. But he was opening himself up to her, just to make her comfortable.

Bellamy opens his mouth, and Clarke almost laughs. He’s about to tell her he sensed that thought. She holds up a hand. ‘Wait, I’m amending it.’

‘Already?’

She nods her head, smiling softly. ‘Only tell me when you think I didn’t mean to have the thought, maybe? Or that I forgot that you were around to perceive it.’

He doesn’t even blink. ‘Okay, I can do that.’

‘I suppose it’s too much to ask you to tell me your thoughts about me,’ she teases. To her delight, his composure falls slightly, and he looks taken aback.

‘It doesn’t exactly thrill me.’

‘Well it doesn’t thrill me that I can’t choose what you know,’ Clarke points out.

Bellamy sighs, resigned. ‘I guess that’s fair,’ he says grudgingly.

By now he’s finished with the rabbit and he comes to sit next to her, rather than across, so they can take turns roasting it over the fire. It’s companionable. His body heat feels almost as hot as the fire.

She nudges him with her foot. ‘So what are you thinking about me?’

He doesn’t answer for a second, fiddling with the stick and changing the angle of the rabbit. But then he swivels suddenly, shining his eyes on her, and she’s unprepared for the intensity.

Once again.

‘Alright,’ he says gruffly. ‘Well, I’m sorry about what happened with your family. I think they certainly didn’t deserve you. I’m sorry that you had to leave Raven behind, you call her your friend, but I think she’s your real family. I think you’re brave for saving Tris and Monroe, no matter if you think it was the obviously right thing to do. It was still a difficult circumstance. I think you’re very talented, an excellent fighter, and I’m glad you’re with me, and that we’re a team. I like fighting you, even if you beat me.’

Bellamy pauses, and she almost interrupts him, but then he smiles again. ‘I wonder why you didn’t take Gabriel’s offer – Raven told me how you rejected him. It could have saved you some trouble. My first guess was that you liked Raven; you don’t seem romantic with her, but I could be wrong. I think my mother would like you. I’m not sure that Octavia would, but she’s difficult like that. I think you’re amazingly stubborn, determined, and smart. And I worry about you, but that’s probably not news to you, because I tend to worry about everyone. But I do worry about you more.’

Clarke’s jaw hangs open slightly. ‘You can’t be feeling all of that at once. Just how big is your heart, Bellamy Blake?’ She pokes him in the chest, and he shrugs, a grin lighting up his face.

The combination of the smile and his eyes on hers bowls her over. He’s the embodiment of light, and she cannot tear her eyes away from his face. He’s utterly transfixing.

‘Now,’ Bellamy says, his voice much softer, much gentler. ‘I’m wondering how you don’t realise that your eyes do to me what mine do to you.’ He shakes his head, but only minutely. She only detects the movement because his eyes adjust slightly, and his curly hair sways as it frames his forehead. ‘Why do you think I’m always staring at you?’

Do her eyes really trap him like his do? How could her cold silver eye ever give the same effect as his golden one? Clarke finally manages to tear her eyes away, embarrassed.

‘I don’t know if it’s a Graceling thing,’ Bellamy says when she doesn’t respond. She feels bad when she detects a hint of guilt in his voice. ‘That we like each other’s eyes. But we’re both fools about it, Princess. So don’t worry. Gold and silver is a good combination, right?’

He pokes her in the side, and she bats him away half-heartedly.

‘It feels like you can see right through me. Like your gaze is the reason you can read my thoughts.’

Bellamy’s teasing façade drops. He stokes the fire again. ‘No, it’s not like that. My eyes have nothing to do with it. I could close my eyes and my Grace would tell me the exact same things.’

‘I know that logically,’ Clarke grumbles. ‘People avoid my eyes out of superstition too. Do most other people avoid yours?’

‘It happens a fair bit,’ he says ruefully.

Clarke summons the courage to bring her gaze towards him again, letting herself study the colours instead of admiring them. ‘The gold is brighter than any gold I’ve seen,’ she whispers. ‘And I grew up in royalty. I’ve seen some very shiny gold.’

He pauses. ‘Your silver eye is like a necklace of my mothers. One she polished every night and refused to wear. And your blue one is brighter than the sky.’

It’s not easy to refuse to blush. Clarke feels the redness rise to her cheeks. He’s just so…

Okay, cut off that thought. Back to the conversation. ‘That was their original colour. Both of them. The blue.’

‘Mine were brown,’ he says, confirming what she’d already guessed. ‘Maybe gold and silver have something to do with our Graces.’

‘Like what?’

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Something.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Helpful. Come on, hurry up with that rabbit, I want to eat.’

‘Yes, Princess,’ he salutes, and they successfully gulp down a meal of scorched rabbit and berries from a nearby bush.

And after that, it’s time to sleep. They set up next to the fire, though not too close. Clarke falls asleep quickly, telling herself, as usual, to wake with the morning light.

But before she drifts off to the calming sound of Bellamy’s sleepy breathing, she thinks of his eyes, and hers, opposite and together.

And that night she dreams of her art, the paints and brushes she hasn’t picked up since Josephine was alive. She dreams of a swirl of colours together, but two in particular, both with a metallic sheen, shine brighter.

*

They lead the horses in a wide berth around the perimeter of Mount Weather proper. The day is brighter, sunnier than yesterday, but Clarke notices the temperature has dropped slightly all the same.

As they leave the looming mountain in the distance, Clarke breaks their comfortable silence.

‘So you’re sure you don’t want to question the Wallaces? Now that we know more?’

‘No, they gave me the creeps.’ He gives her a grin. ‘I’d rather just not go near them. I think talking to their spies will be enough. Besides, I’m not confident they won’t arrest me if they have me.’

‘I’d like to see them try.’

He snorts.

‘My hero. Alright. On to Tondisi, then.’

Despite the better weather, it’s a boring day. The woods to the north of the mountain aren’t all that interesting, and the narrow, single-file track they’re following means it’s difficult to keep conversation. Clarke’s relieved when the sun starts to set.

‘We should find some food, save the rations for later. And set up a fire, it’s colder up here in the north.’ She didn’t actually feel much cold, but she’d learned from travelling with Kane and Gabriel that she had a thicker skin than most.

Bellamy nods. ‘I can do the fire.’ He glances around at the night quickly engulfing them. ‘It’s pretty dark. You sure you can hunt?’

‘It’s not a problem.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What about getting lost?’

She gives him a smirk. ‘I always know my way.’

Like she predicted, it doesn’t take her long to find a couple of small rodents. She brings them back quickly and skins them while Bellamy finishes stoking the fire. He eyes the knife in her hand.

‘Who taught you? Kane? Your parents?’

Clarke shrugs. ‘No. I taught myself.’

When she doesn’t get a reply, she looks up to see him struggling not to laugh. ‘What?’

He shakes his head. ‘I barely need to be here, Princess. You’d survive an apocalypse on your own, you’re so capable.’

She grins. ‘Is that a bad thing?’

‘Of course not.’ He finishes the fire and sits down next to her. ‘It just feels like there must be more to your Grace than killing.’

Clarke frowns. ‘How could I be Graced with anything else?’ Her talents weren’t like his: elegant, perceptive, _clever_. Hers were animalistic, brutal. The ability to take life away.

‘Wasn’t Eden your idea?’

She startles at the change of subject. ‘Yes?’

Bellamy smiles, taking one of the animals from her and resting it over the fire. ‘I think you’ve done far more good in your life than you think you have. You rescued my brother. You saved Tris and Monroe from forced marriage. You lead an entire secret organisation dedicated to protecting the people.’ He sways to the side, nudging her. ‘Your Grace has done far more good than mine ever has.’

It’s not his body temperature or the fire that causes heat to rise to her cheeks. He gives her too much credit.

But that night as she curls up under her bedroll, listening to his rhythmic breathing, she appreciates him all the more.

*

Although she doesn’t feel much cold, Clarke can tell the next morning is chillier than ever. A low fog hovers over the ground, and their breaths smoke out in front of their noses in puffs.

Bellamy doesn’t complain, even though it must be a far cry from the warm Arcadian climate.

She wraps a scarf Raven had packed her around her neck, gathering her long hair up and pushing it out of the way. She’s getting sick of it, to be honest. Being a Lady meant keeping it relatively long, so she could twist it up in whatever elaborate style was the fashion.

But now she was free, she wouldn’t have to do up her hair anymore. An idea comes to her.

‘Would you cut my hair?’

Bellamy turns to her from where he’s brushing down a horse. ‘Why?’

She huffs. ‘Do I need a reason? It’s just too long. Not for a disguise, I just want it shorter. Above my shoulders. Easier to manage.’

He blinks at her, but then shrugs. ‘Sure. I used to deal with Octavia’s hair all the time.’ He hauls the bags back onto the horses. ‘But how about we wait until we get to the inn, where I can ask for some scissors? I could do it with a knife but I’m sure you’d rather it be even.’

Clarke smiles. ‘Sounds perfect.’

The track from here grows marginally wider, and it’s enough for them to stay abreast. It’s nice to keep pace with each other. Clarke can’t help but think everything is easier with him. Even conversation. It’s just…better. Just like the fighting.

That reminds her. ‘Are we going to fight again? Now that I know the truth?’

He glances at her, looking amused. ‘Sure, Princess. We can fight.’

It satisfies her, to think about fighting him again. What moves would work best, now that she knew that he could predict her hits? Would feinting work? Or would she just need to hit him harder?

Bellamy snorts, and she blushes. She’s thinking about him again. Right. It was time to deal with that, she decides.

The next few hours, she practices. Schooling her mind to nothingness, to blankness. It seems to work. He doesn’t mention sensing any of her thoughts.

The track narrows again and he rides ahead. Staring at the back of his curly hair, she feels a sudden rush of sympathy. How overwhelming must it be, if people happened upon him suddenly? Did he always have to concentrate on filtering the thoughts of others around him? If someone just thought his name, would that call his attention? How did it work?

She practices again, thinking of colours. The trees are so boring this far north. Just pines, straight brown things with no branches. The sky’s a nice colour today. Her horse is breathing steadily. She hopes Raven’s doing alright.

Clarke thinks of nothing but useless things for approximately five minutes, and then shouts his name with all her might in her head.

_BELLAMY!_

Ahead of her, Bellamy pulls sharply on his reins, much to his horse’s alarm. He whirls around, eyes wild. ‘Clarke? Are you being attacked? What’s wrong?’

He looks so genuinely concerned and freaked out that she begins to feel bad, even as she giggles at his expression. ‘I’m sorry. I just wasn’t sure how it worked or how loud I needed to be to get your attention.’

Bellamy lets out a long breath. ‘Gods, Princess. You don’t need to yell. Just…’ He huffs. ‘Say my name in your head. Quietly.’

_Bellamy_.

He smiles hopelessly. ‘That’s it, Princess. That’s all you need.’

Clarke hums.

‘Are we good? Can you refrain from giving me a headache and heart attack in the future?’

She rolls her eyes at him. ‘You’ll get over it, Blake.’

They continue on, and she keeps exercising the newfound method of getting his attention. And he knows it’s just practice, because that’s what she intends it to be. Every time she thinks his name, he raises a hand ahead of her, acknowledging it.

It clearly works. So only an hour after his fright, she resolves to stop bothering him with it. And when she decides that, he turns in his saddle to give her a soft nod and a small smile.

Clarke marvels. They just had a conversation without even talking.

The rest of the day is uneventful, but about an hour before sunset, Bellamy stops them near a clearing. ‘Do you still want to fight, Princess?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she grins. They hop down from their horses, and in the corner of her eye Clarke sees movement. Brown, speckled white.

‘Can we wait just a second? I just saw a deer. I bet I could take it down if I ran after it now.’

‘I bet you could.’

She drops her bags and slides through the trees, not startling the deer until the last second, when she tackles it.

Unfortunately, she pushes it and herself into a small creek. It struggles for a second, splashing her, but Clarke eases a knife out of her shoe and puts it out of its misery.

She stands up, and begins to pull it to the bank, where Bellamy is standing, his mouth open.

‘What the hell are you doing, Princess?

‘What? I got it.’

He laughs, and Clarke realises she’s probably soaked head to toe. ‘Was it worth the swim?’

Clarke shrugs. ‘Sure.’

He moves forward to help her haul it up the bank. ‘You could have shot it. Or thrown your knife. I know you have excellent aim.’

‘But now I know I can tackle a deer.’

Bellamy rolls his eyes as he helps her drag it back to camp. She’s not sorry. They need all the meat they can get.

He quickly starts a fire though, glaring at her sodden clothes. ‘Now you’re all wet,’ he fusses. ‘You’ll catch a cold.’

‘I never get sick,’ Clarke dismisses him, peeling off her jacket to dry it. It’s fine, really. She doesn’t even need to take her other clothes off. They’ll dry from the fire easily.

Bellamy looks at her strangely, but doesn’t say anything, just sighs. ‘Let’s get this deer cooking. And we can fight until it’s ready.’

They clear the ground, far enough away from the fire they won’t accidentally stumble into it. And almost immediately, he leaps at her.

It’s exhilarating, fighting him now that she knows his secret. She was right; she has to adjust her strategy. Feinting will never work, because he always knows where she’s truly aiming.

So Clarke practices letting her body take over, not letting herself think about her next move. She even tries thinking of other things linked to him in her head, trying to distract him, unfocus him.

And she also just tries to be as fast as possible.

When she has him on the ground, her knees over his neck, he huffs. ‘So now you have even more of an advantage.’

Clarke pouts as she lets him up. ‘Surely we can think of some drills to help us both.’

‘Hmm,’ Bellamy says, brushing grass off his clothes. ‘Maybe we could wait until dark?’

‘I can see in a lot of dark.’

He smiles. ‘I know. But the tunnels, as dark as they were, had a light source. And the practice yards.’ Looking up at the cloud cover above them, he grins. ‘We’re in the shadow of an enormous mountain, on a night with no moon. I think even you’ll find it hard to see, Princess. And we’ll cover the fire.’

‘We’ll see,’ Clarke teases, but after they’ve taken a water break and let night truly fall, he’s right. It’s black, and she can barely make out his form. Only his golden eye seems to reflect any sort of light.

He dodges a lot more than usual, manoeuvres around her in complicated ways obviously designed to confuse her. And it works. Her hits are worse, not impacting where she wants them to. And he seems to be able to hit her exactly where it hurts most, where she can usually leap to defend herself when she sees the hits coming in the light.

‘You can really sense my body so exactly?’

She hears the grin in his voice. ‘Yes. My Grace gets weirder every day. It’s stronger than it used to be.’

‘Could you fight blindfolded?’

‘I guess so,’ he replies, striking at her out of nowhere, at her leg. She tries to pummel him in return, but he ducks out of her way. ‘But the environment still gives me trouble. On flat ground though? No problem.’

Clarke has to smile at his arrogance. She knows he can’t see it, but she also knows he can probably sense it. ‘We have to fight more often at night.’

‘I won’t argue with that, Princess.’

They grapple some more, and Clarke deliberately doesn’t think about it, but she directs their fight towards the river, pushing him subtly along until when she trips him out of nowhere, he falls back into it.

‘Damn it, Princess,’ he grumbles, shaking his hair so she feels the droplets fly onto her. She doesn’t care, because she’s smirking. He climbs out of the river, muttering. But he doesn’t seem that mad.

And hey, she still won.

Their deer is ready by the time they stumble back. As Clarke checks on it, Bellamy makes a face at his sodden shirt, and unbuttons it.

His chest underneath is golden in the firelight. She quickly clears her mind.

‘Hope you’re hungry,’ she says to distract herself, busying herself with cutting meat. To her irritation, he doesn’t fetch another shirt, just sits by the fire after he lays out the shirt on a log. She swallows. She’ll just have to get over it. Clarke wills her mind to look at him with no emotion. Clinical, detached.

He doesn’t seem to notice, cutting his own meat from the deer and not giving any consideration to how it makes his muscles ripple.

Staring at his arms though, she notices that high on his biceps are small black bands. Decoration. Tattoos.

‘Are they for you?’ He glances up, but he doesn’t seem surprised at all to see her staring at his biceps. ‘Or are they Arcadian?’

He bites into his meal. ‘Arcadian.’

‘Rings for your arms as well as your fingers.’

He shrugs. ‘We like decorating. And these ones are more private. More permanent.’

She chews her lip. ‘Do women get them?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘And not just royalty?’

He smiles. ‘No, not just royalty.’

She nods and tries not to feel relieved when he gets up after that and goes to his bags, shrugging on another shirt.

‘So why the arms? Clothing covers up that decoration.’

‘Like I said,’ he smirks. ‘Privacy.’ There’s an amused glint in his eye.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

She huffs. ‘Seriously, what?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s supposed to be for my wife.’

She stiffens.

‘Or my husband.’

Clarke lets herself relax, just a little. He watches her. ‘I don’t have one, Clarke.’

‘I know that,’ she snaps.

Bellamy just shrugs, and she sighs, shedding the irritation that’s come from nowhere. It just feels itchy, that she wouldn’t know that detail about him.

‘Anyone come close?’ She asks after they’re both well into their meal.

He hums. ‘Only once. When I was a teenager. A girl – her name was Roma. My sister wanted me to marry her.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

Bellamy frowns into the fire. ‘I’d have to tell her about my Grace. I wasn’t ready. And I didn’t want to lie to my wife.’ He sighs. ‘I guess I’m like you. I’m not sure if I ever want to get married.’

Clarke reaches into her bag, fishing out an apple. After dinner snack. ‘Your family won’t make you?’

He smiles. ‘No. I have my own estate, but it’s small. I’ll just leave it to O or another friend. Madi, maybe, if she wants it.’

‘You don’t want kids?’

Bellamy looks up at her, eyes thoughtful. ‘It depends.’

Clarke arches an eyebrow. ‘You’re like me? Happier alone?’

He frowns. ‘Not necessarily. I love my family. I have close friends.’ He shuts his eyes, stretches back. ‘But I guess you’re right. It’s tiring to be around a lot of people. To meet new ones, knowing I’ll have to lie to them. I have my people, and I look after them.’

It’s such a Bellamy thing to say. ‘So you don’t want to marry anyone unless you trust them with your Grace?’

He just shrugs. ‘I guess so.’ He cocks his head at her. ‘What about you? People know of your Grace already. But you still don’t want to marry?’

Clarke shifts in her seat. ‘No. It’s like I told Gabriel. I’d feel trapped. I’ve been owned my whole life. Marriage just isn’t for me.’

‘Even if it breaks his poor heart?’

He’s teasing her, but she throws her apple at him anyway. She shouldn’t be surprised that he catches it easily in one hand. But she rolls her eyes when he bites into it and smirks at her.

After a few chews he glances at her.

‘And you don’t want kids?’

‘Well, I don’t want to marry, so that would rule them out.’ She sighs. ‘I like children. Gabriel and Kane used to tease me about them, because they’re my soft spot.’

He smiles.

‘But it’s not worth marrying someone for them. That’s why I broke the betrothal with Lexa. It’s not worth someone avoiding my eyes forever.’

Bellamy nods, understanding. It’s nice to know he empathises. He’s the only person she’s ever met to get it. A Graceling, a royal, someone with values, yet a talent that’s dangerous.

It’s a rare combination of traits.

They bed down after dinner; it’s already late after their fight and meal. Clarke’s as tired as she can be, which is to say, she feels like her body actually wants her to sleep. But she finds her mind is still racing.

Unlike Bellamy’s. He’s yawning as he lies down, throwing an arm over his eyes. She wants to ask him something, but she also doesn’t want to bother him, if he wants to sleep.

‘You’re not bothering me. What’s up, Princess?’

Of course. She shakes her head and smiles to herself. ‘Does your Grace work when you’re asleep?’

He removes his arm to reveal a furrowed brow. ‘If someone approaches me, I wake up. But I don’t think I passively sense thoughts.’ His eyes move to hers. She knows that he knows why she’s asking. He’s polite enough not to mention it.

‘I’ll try it when you’re not so tired,’ she tells him.

‘Aren’t you tired?’

Clarke shrugs, burrowing down into her bedroll. ‘No. I don’t get tired much. Not properly.’

‘Hmm.’ He shifts, turning over so he’s properly facing her. The dying firelight reflects in his eyes. ‘How about I tell you a story?’

‘A story?’

‘They always helped my sister fall asleep.’ Clarke doesn’t bother telling him it’s not that she can’t sleep, it’s just that she’s not tired. But she wants to hear the story, so she nods.

‘Do you want to hear about Queen Alie?’

‘Queen Alie? There’s a story?’

‘Yes. Haven’t you heard it?’

‘I didn’t know there was one.’ It unsettles her.

He bites his lip before beginning, and he’s only a few words in before she’s entranced. He’s a beautiful storyteller. It helps that his voice is so soothing.

‘Queen Alie wasn’t always the ruler of Polaris. There was another queen before her – her sister, Queen Becca.

‘Becca was a good queen, and the people loved her. But her royal sister was not so adored. People thought she was strange. Unemotional. And she had wild ideas about social issues, about how to achieve peace and prosperity, that her sister would dismiss out of hand. She’d bring them up in public, and Becca would shut them down firmly. Some called Alie a radical, but others called her a revolutionary.

‘Queen Becca never wanted to marry, unfortunately. She did not give an heir. But she was very young and healthy, and she’d live a long while. And perhaps she would adopt a child in the future. The people didn’t mind, apart from the fact that her sister was the current heir. They were twins, with Becca being the elder.

‘The strangest thing happened a few years into her rule. Alie stopped appearing in public with her sister. At first, they said she was ill. But then Becca’s appearances started becoming odd. She would say things nobody ever thought the Queen would say. Approved policies Becca had once been against. And one day, someone found out the truth. Becca had succumbed to a sudden sickness, and Alie was taking over her duties. She’d become the acting Queen without anybody realising.

‘But it didn’t seem to bother anyone in the kingdom, after that. Alie had taken over from her sister without informing anyone, but nobody minded, not even those who had previously dismissed her outlandish ideas. Everybody accepted her as the Queen and loved her as they loved Becca. She transformed the way the kingdom ran things in less than a year. Into, supposedly, a paradise.’

Bellamy frowns suddenly, and Clarke blinks, bringing herself back to reality. ‘Don’t you think that’s weird? They never even had a funeral for Becca.’

Clarke startles. Royalty was always mourned properly. ‘That is weird.’

Bellamy hums. ‘I’ve always thought so. But even though I’m a royal now, my opinion isn’t high on anyone’s list. And the few people I know who’ve met her say she’s charming, lovely. Nothing like the stories. Thelonious thinks the world of her. And when she travelled to Arcadia to ask Luna to be her heir…’ he shakes his head. ‘Luna had never thought that highly of her. Like me. But she agreed quickly. Took Madi, and I haven’t seen them for seven years.’

The confusion in his eyes unsettles Clarke. ‘I’ve never heard that story before,’ she says softly. ‘You really never met her?’

‘No. And I don’t think I’d like her as much as everyone else does.’ He sighs and turns onto his back. ‘I need to sleep. Goodnight, Clarke.’

‘Goodnight.’

She listens to him fall asleep. His deep breaths do little to calm her, to her chagrin, even as his warmth radiates across the small space between them.

What a strange story. She’s always believed utterly in Queen Alie’s virtue and goodness. There had to be an explanation for everything she’s just been told.

She looks over to Bellamy. It looks like he’s asleep.

_Bellamy._

He doesn’t stir.

Relief settles in her chest. He wouldn’t know her thoughts.

Her mind begins racing again. Why had she lost her head when he’d taken his shirt off earlier? She shouldn’t need to clear her mind at such a trivial thing. It was time she focused on the task in front of her, instead of agonising over every thought of Bellamy.

It was like his eyes. She couldn’t deny they were beautiful. But she needed to stop dwelling on them, on him, especially when he was around.

He’s her best friend, she’s pretty sure. She’s only known him a short time, but she trusts him with her life. But he wasn’t anything more than that – she would just have to control herself.

She practices that sentiment by telling her mind firmly to go to sleep, and thankfully it listens. This time, her slumber is dreamless.

*

They arrive at the Tondisi inn at sunset the next day. It will be nice to have a bed before trekking out to wherever the information calls them.

The inside is busy and lively, and Clarke and Bellamy take a small table in the corner, trying to remain somewhat inconspicuous. They still draw several curious eyes – two Gracelings, one of them a blonde they probably recognise as Wanheda. It will be hard to not attract attention.

There’s a group of merchants across the room who look particularly interested in them. One of the men gives Clarke a glare as they sit down.

‘Friend of yours?’

Clarke makes a face. ‘I doubt it. He probably crossed Russell or Simone and sent me to punish him. I don’t remember him though.’

They order from the pretty waitress, who seems to be in good cheer despite the rush of customers. She brings them their ale quicker than Clarke would have thought possible.

‘For the lord and lady,’ she winks, and bustles off back to the counter, ignoring the leering from the merchant table.

Clarke winces. ‘I wonder if she’s married, and that’s why she doesn’t care.’

‘She’s not,’ Bellamy says, and Clarke frowns.

‘How do you know?’

Bellamy opens his mouth and closes it. ‘Uh. She doesn’t have a ring?’

Clarke glares at him. ‘Rings are Arcadian. You sensed her thoughts, didn’t you?’

He shrugs, looking slightly guilty. ‘I can’t help it.’

She huffs. ‘She can’t even admire someone without you knowing personal details about her.’

‘Only if it’s about me. And the only reason I know is because I’m a decent prospect for marriage.’

Clarke rolls her eyes. ‘Humble.’

‘She thought it, not me,’ he defends, and she scoffs.

‘You didn’t have to tell me about it.’

‘I didn’t mean to. You asked a question and I answered without thinking.’ He sighs. ‘I’m sorry.’

Clarke takes a sip of her ale, shaking her head grudgingly. ‘No, it’s not your fault. It makes me concerned, though. I hope someone’s looking out for her.’

The waitress serves them cheerfully the rest of the night, and Clarke rolls her eyes every time she sends a bright smile at Bellamy. He just kicks her under the table.

‘I’m not flirting back.’

But he wasn’t discouraging her either.

She comes over to them towards the latter end of the night, bringing a small cake on a plate.

‘We didn’t order this,’ Clarke tells her, suspicious. She just smiles.

‘My mother loves your garden,’ she says. ‘Helped us out a while back.’

A warm feeling rises in Clarke, and she forgets Bellamy for a second. ‘Oh. I’m glad to hear it.’

‘I’m Gina,’ the waitress introduces. ‘You’re Princess Clarke?’

‘Lady Clarke,’ she corrects, but gives her a smile. ‘This is Prince Bellamy Blake of Arcadia.’

Gina’s eyes widen. ‘Oh! Highness, forgive me for not…’

‘No,’ Bellamy shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He flashes his winning grin. ‘Thanks for the excellent service.’

She blushes. ‘It’s no problem.’ She winks at them both, giving a sly smirk to Clarke. ‘Enjoy your cake.’

Bellamy grins at Clarke over the cake as Gina walks away. ‘I don’t think it was just me she liked, Princess.’

She snorts.

Just as they’re finishing their dessert, a loud laugh startles them. Across the room the merchant who’d glared at Clarke, a pasty man with cropped fair hair, is chuckling as one of his friends reaches out towards Gina as if to grab her. The waitress dodges with ease but there’s a distinctly uncomfortable expression on her face.

But she still has to serve them, clearly doing her best to avoid the leering of the pasty merchant who guffaws as one of his friends tells him some sort of joke, obviously at Gina’s expense.

Clarke grits her teeth. What pieces of shit. When she glances at Bellamy, he’s got a thunderous look on his face too, lips snarled into a grimace.

‘Keep a low profile,’ Clarke murmurs to him, but she’s just as reluctant to not interfere as him. He closes his eyes and audibly breathes out.

Sorry, she thinks to him, and he shakes his head.

‘Not your fault, Princess.’ He says grimly. ‘They’re playing up even more because of us.’

Before Clarke can even reply to that, a yell from across the room grabs their attention yet again. The pasty merchant has grabbed Gina’s arm, and she’s pulling it from his grasp with a distinct look of disgust.

In a moment, Bellamy’s standing, chair scraped back, arms tensed. Everyone in the room turns to look. The merchant looks wary, but he obviously has no idea who Bellamy is.

Very deliberately, Clarke stands up too, levelling a deadly stare at the group of men. Especially the pasty one, who, when he makes eye contact with Clarke, withdraws his hand and becomes whiter than he already was. Good. The more afraid he is of her, the better.

He mutters something to his friends and they quiet down, to Clarke’s relief. Gina shoots her a grateful smile – she’s sure that the waitress can handle herself, but it probably doesn’t hurt to have a renowned assassin backing her up.

Clarke sits down, but Bellamy hasn’t shifted from his menacing stance.

‘Bellamy,’ she whispers. ‘It’s alright. They got the message.’ She reaches up and lays a hand on his shoulder. He startles, like he’s only just realised she’s there.

‘Right. Yeah.’ He sits down again, shaking his head darkly. ‘Gods, Clarke. They’re even worse than you’d think.’

‘They were thinking of you?’

‘In a way.’ But he doesn’t elaborate.

They only wait a couple more minutes before leaving, Clarke making sure to send a threatening look towards the merchants, who are getting raucous again. Just as they reach the stairs, Gina catches up with them.

‘Thank you for that. I can usually handle myself, but some Graceling backup doesn’t hurt.’

‘It’s no issue,’ Clarke tells her honestly. ‘Let us know if they keep bothering you. You can’t kick them out?’

Gina grimaces. ‘No. They’re well-paying and well-connected. The one who grabbed my arm? That’s Lord Carl Emerson.’

‘The merchant lord close to the Wallaces,’ Clarke realises. That’s why he was staring daggers at her. She’d had to punish his family a while back for reneging on a deal with Simone.

‘Mmhmm. We can’t afford to kick him out. But anything you need, just ask. I have a feeling he’ll be reluctant to touch me again, thanks to you.’

‘Like Clarke said,’ Bellamy smiles. ‘No issue. But I do have one request?’

‘Name it.’

‘Do you have a pair of scissors?’

*

They got a room together to save money, although Clarke’s reluctant to advertise the fact. As soon as they let themselves in, she groans.

‘They only gave us one bed.’

‘Oh,’ Bellamy says, stopping dead. ‘Shit. We could ask Gina…’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘The inn looked fully booked. It’ll be fine; it’s a large bed. Just…stay on your side.’

‘Whatever you say, Princess.’

They organise their things, and Clarke goes to duck into the small washroom to clean herself after the long day’s ride.

‘Leave your hair wet,’ Bellamy calls after her.

Clarke stops and frowns at him. ‘Why?’

He snaps the scissors at her. ‘Still want that haircut?’

She actively doesn’t speed up her routine. She reminds herself to take her time. This may be the last time she gets a bath for a long while.

When she emerges, Bellamy has set himself up at the edge of the bed, a cloth laid down and a brush by his side. She has no idea where he got it – he can’t really brush his own hair? His curls are much too unruly.

But he just pats the spot in front of him and she sits down gingerly, hair dripping.

‘Alright,’ he says, voice close to her ear. She fights the beginning of a shiver down her spine. ‘How short did you want it again?’

Clarke holds a hand up to her shoulders, hovers her fingers at her neck. ‘Here?’

‘Sounds good.’

She feels it as he gathers her hair up in his large hand, enjoys the sensation of his knuckles brushing the back of her neck.

_Snip. _It sounds like freedom. Bellamy’s cutting off her years of servitude, her years of stifling royalty, her years of feeling trapped.

_Snip_. Bellamy tilts her head this way and that, forward and backwards as he evens up the edges.

_Snip_. He turns her to face him so he can shape the locks that fall around her face. His eyes are all focus; he even bites his lip. It’s so adorable that Clarke has to giggle.

‘What?’ he huffs. ‘I’m concentrating. You want me to mess it up?’

‘No,’ Clarke smiles. ‘I’m sure you’re doing a great job.’

Bellamy leans in further, snipping away at stray hairs near her ears. Up this close, Clarke can count each freckle that adorns his face.

Blankness, she reminds herself. No thoughts about Bellamy, positive or negative. She breathes in and closes her eyes, although all that does is force her to ignore how good he smells. Like a forest, like the earth, like soft leather.

‘There,’ he finally murmurs. ‘All done.’

Clarke runs her hands through her hair. It’s exhilarating, feeling the shorter, healthier curls cascade through her fingers. Bellamy brushes a hair away from her forehead, raising the scissors to snip one more time. She lifts an eyebrow, and he smiles sheepishly.

‘All done now. I promise.’

‘Thanks, Bellamy. I appreciate it.’

‘You haven’t even seen it yet. I could have ruined your beauty forever.’

Clarke rolls her eyes. ‘I don’t think even your Grace is that powerful. Besides, it feels good.’

‘Well I’ll go and get a mirror just in case,’ he snorts, and skirts by her to stand up.

But as he does so, his face stills.

‘They’re here to see us.’

Clarke frowns. ‘Who?’

He glances at her grimly. ‘The merchants. Your friend. Emerson, was it?’

‘Lord Emerson, yes.’ she says. ‘Do you know what they want?’

‘We’ll find out, I guess. Quick. Get dressed, grab some maps out. Look as if we’re just meeting, not staying together.’

Clarke rushes around, hides her things under the bed and removes a pillow to imply only Bellamy will be sleeping there, scatters some maps on the quilt. She sits down on the covers just as a knock sounds at the door, and Bellamy moves to open it, giving her a quick, comforting nod before his expression changes.

Where just then his face was lined with worry, and before that it was calm, focused, Bellamy’s face now is almost…too relaxed. A lazy smile twists his lips. It’s an act, Clarke realises. The confidence is a show, for everyone in the world watching him.

He swings the door open.

‘Ah,’ Emerson says, a slimy smirk on his pale face. ‘Prince Bellamy Blake of Arcadia. An honour to meet you.’

Behind him, Clarke can spot his gaggle of friends, all solemn-faced.

‘And who might I be addressing?’ Bellamy asks pleasantly. Only Clarke can see the tension in his neck. He really hates these guys.

Emerson holds out a hand. ‘Lord Carl Emerson of Mount Weather. These are my associates. Merchanting is my main line of business.’

‘I see,’ says Bellamy. ‘And how may I help you tonight, gentlemen?’ As if he hadn’t stood, ready to beat them to pieces only hours before.

‘I’m hoping we can help you tonight,’ Emerson replies. ‘For some compensation, of course.’

‘Oh?’ Bellamy shifts slightly to his right, allowing the merchant’s field of vision to take in Clarke, sitting serenely on the bed. She makes a show of glancing up from a map, and pins Emerson in her gaze. His greasy smile noticeably dims. ‘My travelling companion is already with me, and we were just discussing our next course of action. So you have perfect timing. What information do you have?’

Emerson darts his eyes away from Clarke’s. ‘May we come in?’

‘Of course.’ Bellamy smoothly steps away from the door and gestures. ‘There’s a table just over there you’re welcome to sit at.’

They file in, each taking stock of Clarke in her nonchalant pose on the bed. She’s a threat, and a powerful one at that. But it won’t stop them from trying to bullshit Bellamy. Clarke isn’t known for her brains – she’s a thug to them.

The merchants each take a seat and Bellamy closes the door, leaning lazily against it. ‘So. You have information for us?’

‘For compensation.’

‘Yes,’ Bellamy rolls his eyes. ‘You will be paid. On my honour as a prince. But I need to know the value of it first.’

Emerson clears his throat. ‘We’ve heard you’re looking for your half-brother, the crown prince of Arcadia. We’re very sorry to hear he went missing.’

Bellamy nods his head. ‘We miss him very much.’

‘Well,’ Emerson says. ‘We have information that connects the Prince to a kidnapping by the kingdom of Eligius and Queen Diyoza.’

‘Oh?’

And the charade begins. Bellamy slings question after question at them. Clarke can tell he knows they’re lying – even she can gather as much without having a Grace that tells her their intentions. But she’s hoping he can find something useful from their thoughts toward him.

He doesn’t let up. Where exactly is Wells being held? For how long? What’s Diyoza’s motive? How quickly should they move to save him?

Emerson grows more and more confident as Bellamy pretends to find the information a revelation. He nods deeply, widens his eyes at appropriate moments, even scribbles something down on some paper he requests from Clarke. He’s quite good, Clarke thinks. A drama queen if there ever was one.

Bellamy throws her a half-second smirk before turning back to the merchants. ‘Well! If this is true, we should send word to my sister immediately. You agree, Lady Clarke?’

‘Of course.’

‘Your sister?’ Emerson frowns.

‘Yes, the Princess Octavia. We’ll send her to Eligius to retrieve our brother. Octavia and Charmaine haven’t gotten along in the past, so I’m sure she’d love the opportunity to face her again.’

The merchant looks distinctly annoyed. ‘You won’t go yourself?’ He seems very put out that he hasn’t convinced them to chase a wild goose.

‘No,’ Bellamy says. His eyes cut to Clarke again. ‘We’re actually travelling to Polaris, after our night here.’

‘Queen Alie is not responsible,’ Emerson says immediately. Bellamy raises his brows.

‘Never said she was,’ he says, mild. He makes his way to the bed and begins gathering up papers.

‘It’s a social visit, actually. My friend, the Princess Luna. And her little sister. They’re like family to me, and Luna knew my brother well. We want to comfort her.’ He smiles. ‘We can give her the happy news that he will be rescued from Diyoza very soon.’

At this point another merchant speaks up, nervously glancing at Clarke but continuing on anyway.

‘You shouldn’t go to Polaris. There’s been a sickness there recently, in the City of Light.’

Bellamy turns to him, eyes shining. ‘A sickness? That’s the first we’ve heard of it. I thought the city was a paradise of no pain or suffering.’

The man shrugs. ‘I haven’t been there, but my cousin Ilian just arrived back after a visit. He returned quite sick, from a stay in their hospital. Many others had the condition too, from what he said.’

‘And what was the illness?’

‘We’re not sure. He was cured quickly when he was there, but my aunt had to point out his high temperature and rashes on his legs when he came back. He hadn’t noticed; he said that while he was in the hospital, he didn’t feel any pain. But a few days back and he was very sick again.’

‘No pain?’ Bellamy questions. ‘As in literally? He felt no physical pain?’

The merchant nods. ‘That’s what the City of Light does.’

‘Hmm.’ Bellamy glances back at Clarke.

‘None of this matters. Queen Alie is innocent,’ Emerson cuts in. ‘And we’ve provided you with more than enough information. We need our compensation, and then we should take our leave. We’re here on quite a busy trip.’

‘Yeah,’ sniggers another man under his breath, quiet enough that any usual listener wouldn’t be able to hear. ‘Plenty to do. Too bad we don’t know what room the waitress stays in.’

Clarke slams her foot against the wall, making everyone in the room except Bellamy jump. ‘What did you say?’ She keeps her voice sweet, hoping they all hear the danger underneath. The man says nothing, eyes wide, and she stands up, crossing the room. She knows she probably shouldn’t be doing this, but gods. These men were worse than animals.

Just as she gets near enough to aim a good kick at his face, a warm hand rests on her shoulder. ‘Stop,’ Bellamy murmurs. ‘Think. Breathe.’

When she turns to look at him, there’s anger in his eyes, but he’s reserved. Rueful. It would be best not to cause a scene, he’s saying.

Emerson’s eyes flicker between them. ‘Interesting,’ he says. ‘You’re the only man who can tame the beast. Be sure to let her off the leash tonight, though, if you want to have some fun.’

The room is deadly silent for a second. Clarke wonders if Emerson grasps what he’s just said. The vile creep.

She’s so focused on scoffing that she doesn’t notice until too late the tensing of Bellamy’s hand. He strides towards the merchant with unconcealed fury and Clarke only just manages to sling a hand out in front of his chest to stop him. When Clarke looks up into his eyes, she finally understands what he meant, all those days ago, about how he still got angry. The thunder from before is nothing compared to this. His golden eye is flaming with anger, a raging, molten pool.

Bellamy Blake is furious.

Stop_,_ Clarke thinks to him, splaying her fingers along his chest. Think. Breathe.

It takes a few seconds, a few satisfying moments of Emerson’s eyes widening with alarm as he takes in the threat of an angry Graceling, until Bellamy closes his eyes again. He breathes out, a long stream of air, and finally opens his eyes to Clarke.

Thank you, they say. Fondness is etched in the corners.

But when he cracks his head back around to face the merchants, the storm has returned.

‘Get out,’ he says, quiet.

Emerson flounders. ‘But our payment?’

Bellamy’s face turns to a cool, smooth marble, cold and unfeeling. ‘You think you’re getting a single coin after speaking to us this way? You’re lucky to leave without a bruise to mar your skin.’

‘Are you sure we shouldn’t gift them some anyway?’ Clarke adds, levelling a glare at one merchant who hasn’t quite comprehended the seriousness of his situation. He’s nudging his neighbour, mouth curled up at the edge. ‘Maybe it would stop them even contemplating going near the waitress. Or any other girl, for that matter.’

As Clarke speaks, she rubs one foot up her ankle, pulling up a pant leg to reveal a dagger strapped to her leg. Emerson’s eyes drop to it, and his face pinches.

‘We won’t,’ he says quickly. Clarke had chosen the dagger to reveal carefully. It should look familiar to him.

‘If you do,’ she says calmly, cooling her voice to match Bellamy’s icy fury. ‘I’ll hear about it.’ She deliberately pushes eye contact onto each of them. ‘And Wanheda will pay you a visit.’

‘Yes,’ says the merchant who’d told them about Polaris, voice shaking. ‘Yes, Highness.’

‘Now leave,’ Bellamy thunders, and they scurry out the door. Even Emerson doesn’t spare them a glance in his haste.

Bellamy slams the door behind them and leans against it, breathing heavily for a moment. He opens one eye, grinning. ‘Lucky you’re such a diplomat, Princess.’

She breathes out, a reluctant smile returning to her face. ‘We make a good team.’

‘We keep each other centred.’

Clarke blinks at his serious tone. ‘As in?’

He shrugs, turning away. Clarke could almost swear he’s blushing. ‘We both calm each other down.’

She knows what he means, and he’s right, so her smile just grows wider. But he’s embarrassed, so she sits back down and shuffles the papers in her hands. ‘So what did you learn?’

Bellamy takes the out she gives him gratefully, judging from the warm look in his eye. He settles back on the bed, next to her. ‘Liars. It was complete bullshit. Well…except for that man’s story about his cousin. That was true.’ He rubs a hand over his face. ‘Emerson was lying when he said Alie wasn’t responsible. But at the same time…he believed her to be innocent.’

Clarke pauses in folding one of the maps, looking up at him. ‘That makes no sense, Bellamy.’

He shrugs. ‘It’s what my Grace told me. It could be wrong, but it never has been before.’

She shakes her head. ‘But it doesn’t…how can they believe her responsible but innocent?’

Bellamy sighs. ‘All I know is that when Emerson told me Alie had nothing to do with it, he was lying to me. But later, when he said she was innocent, he believed what he was saying to be the truth.’

Clarke chews her lip. ‘It’s hard to understand what you get from them. Can you really tell his intentions so clearly?’

‘Because they were lying to _me_, yes. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.’ He glances at her. ‘It’s easier to tell when they’re lying, because they don’t block their feelings at all. Not like you do.’

She blushes. So he did know she was trying to hide things from him.

‘I’m glad you do it, Clarke. Like I said, I don’t want to take your thoughts from you.’ He pauses, then smirks. ‘You know, if you ever want a break, you could just knock me out. Like the first time we met.’

Clarke just rolls her eyes at him, pushing at his shoulder. ‘I’m not hurting you just for my peace of mind.’

‘But if you ever need to, you can,’ he insists.

Already, her head shakes. She’ll never do that. And he knows it, but not just because she’s thinking it, she’s pretty sure. He just knows _her_. He gives her a guilty smile.

‘Raven did pack us some headache cures.’

Clarke snorts. ‘I’m pretty sure they still have a side effect. Last time Monty tested it, his hair turned purple.’

‘What, I wouldn’t look good with purple hair?’ He presses a hand to his chest. ‘You wound me, Princess.’

He’s so ridiculous. What are they even talking about? They should be focusing on what he just found out, not about whether she had a right to knock him out, like that would ever happen. Clarke looks back down at the map in her hands.

‘Does this mean we’re heading for Polaris tomorrow?’

Bellamy slides down the bed, resting his head on the pillow proper. ‘I guess so. To talk to a queen who kidnaps princes but is also innocent of it.’ He frowns for moment. ‘I can’t believe Thelonious liked her so much. Usually he sees through duplicitous people.’ He turns to his side, gazing up at Clarke through his eyelashes. She determinedly doesn’t notice how long they are. His eyes widen suddenly.

‘Clarke.’

‘Hmm?

‘Maybe she’s Graced.’

She blinks. It takes a second for her to consider his theory. ‘But surely someone would know. Wouldn’t she have different eyes?’

‘Maybe she hides it, somehow.’

‘Does she have one eye? That would be a major clue.’

Bellamy grimaces. ‘Not that I’ve heard. But there could be another way.’

Clarke’s not convinced. ‘But…what would her Grace even _be_?’

He presses his lips together, looking out past her, into space. ‘Lies.’

‘Lies?’

‘What if people believe her lies? She can make people trust her. And then the lies can spread, from kingdom to kingdom, ear to ear. Any reputation she wants. Any lies about her kingdom or herself, automatically true to whoever hears it.’

Incredibly, it made sense. Clarke’s never heard of such a Grace, but it was also true that no two Graces were exactly alike. Look at Bellamy’s. Look at _hers_. If Queen Alie had this power, only the gods knew the damage she could do. Had _done_.

‘What about the man’s cousin?’ Clarke finds herself asking. ‘She can’t be so bad, if the City is so wonderful, if he was sick, and it took away his pain.’

Bellamy frowns at her. ‘Yes, he felt no pain. But that’s not a cure, Clarke. You know that. And how would she do that, anyway? Does Polaris have miracle healers they’re not sharing with the rest of us? Why is it only affecting the City of Light? And these healers only relieve the pain? It returned to him when he left. What sort of doctor is that?’

Clarke goes to open her mouth, to defend the Queen, because surely there was _some _reasonable explanation, but Bellamy sits up, interrupts her.

‘You’re defending her too.’

She blinks. Well, yes.

Bellamy reaches his hands out, rests them on her shoulders. ‘Pain is a part of life, Clarke. You can’t just erase it. Sometimes you just have to overcome it. What’s happening in that city, if that merchant is right – it isn’t a good thing.’ He shakes his head. ‘You weren’t ever suspicious?’

The heat of his hands burns into her shoulders, seeps down her arms, into her chest, up her spine, and finally, it’s like a bubble bursts in her head. The truth spreads like a sickness in her thoughts.

It’s Josephine all over again. Stealing her free will. She shuts her eyes tightly. She’s terrified again. How can she defend herself from this? With her cousin, she knew what was happening. With this…her very own thoughts are changing.

She opens her eyes again, takes in Bellamy, who’s still looking at her, eyes all concern. Moonlight streams through the window behind him, and it catches on his hair. This close, she can count his freckles again.

‘What’s wrong?’ Bellamy asks softly.

‘How do I protect myself? I don’t want my mind taken from me again. Bellamy…’

His hands run down her arms, trickling sparks. He catches her trembling fingers, squeezes them gently.

‘Simple, Princess. I can see the truth with my Grace. She won’t affect me.’ He doesn’t blink as his eyes bore into hers, gold and brown, earnest and serious.

‘My Grace will protect me, and I’ll protect you. I promise.’

*

She’s never slept with another person in her bed before. It’s plenty big enough, but it’s still strange – Bellamy’s usual high temperature means she barely needs the blankets piled upon her. Even though she spent the last week falling asleep to his steady breaths, it’s different when they’re sharing a mattress, somehow.

Luckily, Clarke’s blessed with an ability to sleep easily. Once she gets used to his noises, unmasked by the lack of nature noises surrounding them, she closes her eyes and doesn’t wake until…

She’s hot. Overheating. She shouldn’t be – she’d arranged the blankets to cover her only so much.

But Clarke soon realises why. A heavy arm is draped over her, and she’s tucked into a firm, yet comforting chest.

Bellamy.

She really hopes he’s asleep, because her thoughts run into overdrive before she even fully processes it. Is she…cuddling with him?

Not only was this vastly inappropriate for nobles of their stature, but they’re friends. Not more than. And friends did _not _have their heart beat double time as they lay in each other’s arms.

She’s pretty sure.

But she doesn’t want to move. Bellamy’s breathing is soft, his chest rising in a perfect, lulling rhythm. Before she really registers it, Clarke finds herself drifting off again, and her only thoughts before she’s lost to sleep are that she’s never done this before, but she never wants it to end.

When she actually wakes up, she feels empty. The other side of the bed is vacant, and Clarke pulls the blankets more firmly over herself, because it is sort of cold now, without him.

In a few seconds, Clarke registers that she needs to stop thinking things, because if he wasn’t lying down, he was probably awake somewhere within range.

There’s the sound of water splashing from behind the door to their washroom, so she’s right. Clarke closes her eyes, wills her heart to stop beating so excitedly. Nothing happened. Nothing to think about at all.

When Bellamy emerges from washing, Clarke’s dressed herself, and she doesn’t meet his eyes until he opens the door for them to head down to breakfast.

‘You okay?’ He asks that, yet Clarke sees now that his eyes are tired, purple underneath, red in the corners. Did he get any sleep at all? Did he hear her middle-of-the-night thoughts?

‘Fine,’ she stutters.

He sighs. ‘I only slept once we started…I’m sorry. My mind wouldn’t let me sleep, and then you rolled into me, and only then my eyes drooped, and—’

‘Bellamy,’ she smiles, suddenly relieved, because he’s just as nervous as she is. She lays a hand on his arm. ‘It’s fine. I’m hungry. Let’s go.’

And not talk about it right now, she promises herself. There are more important things to focus on.

After breakfast, they pack for their long trip. It won’t be easy by any means. Clarke’s never travelled so far before. A few days north through the Mount Weather forest, then up through a thickly wooded mountain pass, that will take them quite a while to parse. It wasn’t the usual route taken to Polaris – many just went by boat, from Trigeda, around a treacherous cape. It was said to still be less dangerous than the mountains, even if it was three times as long.

When they get through the mountains, it’ll be a day or two more walking until they reach the City of Light beyond that, perching at the north of the kingdom.

And then what? Brave a city full of lies that could turn Clarke’s thoughts to mush? Fear shivers down her spine more than once as they leave the inn, but she still thinks she might be better off than Bellamy. At least she slept most of the night.

His eyes droop as they prepare their horses, and Clarke just hopes he’ll be okay to travel. She wonders how late it was, when she woke up that first time, and then immediately does a sort of double take with herself.

She always knows what time it is, wherever she is, whatever she’s doing. Right now, it was half past eight. But she’d woken in the night, and not registered it?

That unsettled her.

But she can’t dwell on it for long. The ride is long and gruelling, especially after it starts pouring rain in the afternoon. The horses struggle to pick through a muddy, treacherous trail, slipping in puddles and sinking into mire.

Eventually, the rain is too thick for even Clarke to think it’s a good idea to continue. She relays as much to Bellamy, and they lead the horses off the path, into the thick wood hoping to find some sort of cover.

They stop under a broad-leafed tree. Water still trickles down, but it’s certainly a relief from the relentless downpour. Bellamy sighs, wiping water off his face.

‘I think this is the best we’re gonna get.’

Clarke nods. ‘Better than out there.’ They tie the horses up, and she shucks her sodden jacket. ‘I’ll start a fire.’

Bellamy looks at her strangely. ‘A fire? In this?’

‘What?’

‘It’s way too wet, Princess.’

Clarke grins at him. ‘Just watch me.’

Bellamy snorts, shaking his head. ‘Whatever you say.’ He cocks his head for a second. ‘While you accomplish the impossible, I’m going to hunt down the rabbit I just sensed hiding from the rain over there.’ He gestures into the trees.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought your Grace didn’t sense animals.’

‘Yeah,’ Bellamy says, frowning, not looking at her. ‘But I think it might be changing. I’ll be right back, it’s getting away…’

And with that he disappears into the rain, and Clarke gapes after him for a second before coming to her senses. Right. Fire.

She was always in charge of the fires with Kane and Gabriel; they both said she was just much better at it. Apparently, it’s more of a skill than she thought.

It’s not that hard, she thinks, as she strips some dry wood from behind the soaked bark of tree. All it takes is her cupping her hands carefully around the tinder as she lights it. She sets up a small covering, so the rain doesn’t extinguish the flames.

Way too wet? Ha.

Bellamy’s back after a few more minutes, two rabbits hanging from his hand. He stops dead when he sees the fire. ‘You really did it, Princess,’ he says admiringly.

‘And you found your rabbit.’

‘Two of them,’ he agrees, and gives her one to skin. He shakes his head like a dog, shedding the water droplets stuck in his hair. ‘Never been able to do that before. I guess my Grace is still growing.’

Clarke concentrates on her rabbit, not saying anything until she’s roasting it over the fire. ‘It’s very impressive,’ she says softly.

He looks up at her, surprised.

‘You think so?’

She shrugs. ‘I hated your Grace at first, but I definitely see the benefits now.’ Just don’t get cocky about it, she thinks, and his smile is brighter than the fire.

‘If anyone should be cocky, Princess, it’s you. You realise that this weather should make a fire impossible? Yet here we are, dry and warm.’

‘Everyone has things they’re good at.’

Bellamy just shakes his head, huffing softly. ‘Not like this. Take the compliment. I’d be miserable without you.’

She knows he senses the thought she has immediately after, because it comes too quick for her to shield it from him. But Bellamy just smiles at her softly.

‘I’m glad it’s mutual.’

It’s a good night. The warm flames keep them comfortable despite the water still dripping above them, and their bags have kept their bedrolls relatively dry. They both huddle close to the fire as they fall asleep, and Clarke’s comforted by the fact he’s only a few feet away.

But that’s when it gets weird. Clarke doesn’t struggle with sleep. If she dreams, it doesn’t disturb her.

Tonight, she has a nightmare.

Dream Bellamy rides off at sunrise, leaving her behind. She shouts after him, but her voice doesn’t make a sound. Innately, she knows he has to leave her, but somehow it’s the worst sight she’s ever seen. Clarke doesn’t want to be alone. She’s a survivor, but that doesn’t stop her heart from ripping as she’s left behind.

Clarke wakes in the dark with a gasping sob. Water drips methodically down from the branches above, mixing with the tears on her cheeks.

She sits up, wiping her face. Gazes at Bellamy’s slumbering figure, barely lit by the dying fire. He mustn’t be awake, because he’d have noticed her state right now otherwise. She returns to lying on her back, staring up at the gloomy canopy. Sleep, she tells herself firmly. Don’t think about it now.

And thankfully, her mind listens.

*

Pure irritation has seeped into her bones the next morning. More than that, actually.

Annoyance. Anger. Fury.

At Bellamy.

Clarke can’t even explain it. She doesn’t understand why every time she looks towards him as they pack up the horses her blood boils and her head aches. The upset itself makes her even more frustrated, with him and herself.

And she knows he feels it, the waves of fury rolling off her. Clarke hates that he has to know how irrational her emotions are at the moment, not least because it’s probably frustrating for _him_.

Because if she doesn’t know why she’s so upset at him, he can’t know either.

The understanding in his eyes as they finally ride off causes more guilt to broil in her stomach. He doesn’t deserve these irrational, hostile feelings. Invading his Grace, knocking at the door relentlessly only just to say hi, Clarke’s furious with you but doesn’t know why, you can’t fix it and she doesn’t know how to either. Have a nice day!

She practices wiping her mind again, trying to give him some sort of reprieve. How odd, she realises halfway through the day, that she’s mad at him, but she’s trying to spare him from it.

Close to sunset, Bellamy stops them. ‘How about we rest for the day?’

Clarke doubts he thinks they’re going to fight tonight – that would be breaking his no fighting angry rule. But she supposes that there must be a reason he’s stopping them early, so she just nods shortly and follows him off the track.

He stops at the edge of a small pond, staring into it like he’s hypnotised.

‘Bellamy?’

‘Don’t you think it’s odd,’ he says quietly. ‘That I know how many fish are in there? How many frogs? Every creature in there, I…’

Clarke swallows down her upset for a second. ‘Every one?’

He shakes his head, but not as a negative. Like he’s trying to clear it. His eyes alight on hers again. ‘I don’t understand why my Grace wants me to sense each one. It hurts, Clarke. Too many things…’

Guilt rushes back into her stomach, a waterfall of nausea. He can’t even escape her.

‘Clarke, no, that’s not…’

‘I need some air,’ she says, and he purses his lips. They’re outside already.

‘Just. Please let me,’ she begs, and she turns and walks into the forest, feeling the heat of his eyes on her neck.

Once she’s several paces away, she runs, runs until she reaches a small stream. So many of them, around here. She supposes it’s because they’re at the base of the mountains.

She gazes at the water trickling through, cascading over rocks. The small rapids lead downstream to a deep-looking pool, and without thinking, she strips and plunges into it.

Sweet relief. It’s not very deep, but it reaches her waist, and it’s enough that she can dunk her head, feel the cool water rush over her head, her hair, her face. And the anger washes away, like dirt. There’s clarity now, and without Bellamy around to steep her paranoia, she realises why she’s been so angry at him.

She’s never needed anybody but herself. Sure, she trusts Raven, Monty, Kane. But they’ve never needed to protect her. And how long has she known them? Years.

Clarke’s known Bellamy less than three months, and she trusts him with her life, trusts him to protect her against an enemy she can’t fight.

And it terrifies her.

It scares her that she _wants_ to trust him. Even after the whole issue with his Grace. He should be her worst nightmare, yet now he’s the opposite. And that’s why him leaving in her dream scared her so much.

She recognises, though, how awful it is that her subconscious decided to deal with this revelation with complete irrational anger. Taking the time to scrub away the grime of travel, she resolves to return and apologise. Explain.

He would understand, wouldn’t he?

Half an hour later she trudges back into camp. Sunset has lit the trees surrounding the small clearing in a pink and orange glow.

Bellamy’s sitting with his back to a tree, poking morosely at the campfire he’s lit. He’s already arranged her bedroll for her, unpacked her horse.

But it’s when she properly steps closer, and he looks up to see her with his eyes, _those _eyes, that he takes her breath away.

He’s beautiful. Not just because he’s golden in the light, freckles like constellations on his face, hair perfectly tousled. It’s in the dimples around the corner of his mouth, still there even when he’s not smiling. The anxious movement of his large, safe hands, his straightened posture as soon as he’s registered her presence. The warmth, the pure fondness in his eyes, the irises that betray every emotion, every sadness and happiness and frustration.

Clarke loves him. He’s beautiful, and she loves him.

It should be a wonderful feeling. She should be able to leap into his arms, marry him tomorrow.

But she doesn’t want that, and dread creeps up into her heart. She’s standing in front of him, knowing that she loves him, and he _knows_.

There’s a little stutter that jolts her heart when she registers his own face. It’s shining hope, yet trepidation.

‘I didn’t ask for this,’ she whispers.

Bellamy stands slowly. ‘Clarke,’ he murmurs.

She shakes her head. ‘No, no, no. I don’t want this.’

‘Clarke, please.’

Clarke backs away from him, drops to her knees on her bedroll. ‘I’m going to sleep,’ she announces, voice jarring in the tense air. She refuses to look at him, look at the emotion in his eyes, because maybe if she doesn’t see it, it’s not real.

Bellamy slumps back down to sit on his own bedroll. She hears the fire crackling, his shifting on the fabric.

‘Clarke, please talk to me.’

She just shakes her head, closing her eyes. All she can think is a mantra.

_I can’t get married. I can’t get married. I can’t get married._

There’s a silence for a long time. Noises of the night cut through everything. The chirping of insects, the shifting of each of their breaths.

‘I know you aren’t asleep,’ Bellamy says finally. ‘Please, can we talk about this?’

_You know how I feel. You can’t help but know it._

‘And what about how I feel?’ comes his reply, with a slight edge. Like he’s reluctant to even say it.

That gets her to turn onto her back, jaw shaking slightly. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, but even that’s enough to see how he’s feeling all through his body. His hunched back, his hands tightened together, eyes pleading.

Clarke sits up. She still can’t quite look at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says quietly. ‘But I don’t know how to deal with this.’ She risks another glance at him, and it’s a mistake, because she can’t help but keep looking at his eyes. She breathes slowly out. ‘How do you feel?’

To her relief, Bellamy breaks their eye contact, looking down at his hands. He fiddles with the golden rings on his fingers, quiet for a second. And then when he looks up at her again, it’s every emotion from before, but three times the intensity. It’s like she has his Grace. She sees everything.

‘I know you don’t want this, Clarke. But I can’t help how I feel.’

‘And how is that?’ For some reason, she wants it in words. Not just ambiguous body language, the delicate art of reading his face.

‘I don’t know when it happened,’ he says. ‘But it did. And I was afraid to tell you. Would you hate me? I don’t want you to hate me, Clarke. I already came so close to that.’

Clarke slowly, softly, shakes her head. ‘I don’t hate you.’ Like he doesn’t know.

‘I love you,’ he says, and her heart stops. ‘I love you, Clarke. Maybe since I first saw you, when you kicked me in the face in those tunnels. Maybe it wasn’t so long ago, maybe it was when you saved those girls, or when you stood up against your family. I don’t know when it happened, but I know how I feel now. It snuck up on me, until I was so in love with you, I couldn’t look back.’

Clarke hates that tears are dripping down her face, because it’s all her heart wants to hear, but it’s everything she’s scared of too.

‘I’m sorry,’ she manages. It’s not his fault, that this happened.

_I have to go._

‘Don’t leave,’ Bellamy pleads. ‘We can still do this together.’

She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m not _leaving_ leaving. I promise. I just. I need to think without you in my head.’

He presses his lips together, understanding. But he’s still reluctant. ‘What if you decide you need to leave anyway? No matter what happens between us…I don’t want you to go. I need you; I need your help. Please don’t go.’

‘I won’t leave,’ Clarke tells him. ‘I know you can’t be reassured, because you think I could change my mind. But that’s how everybody feels, all the time, without your Grace. Trust me for once, as I trust you.’

Bellamy shuts his eyes, breathes out slowly. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Go. Give it a good ten minutes.’

Ten minutes. His range for her is further than she thought possible. The knowledge of why causes her heart to skip again.

But she goes anyway, because she needs this.

*

Ten minutes later, Clarke slumps down onto a stump, breathing heavily. It occurs to her how hopeless the situation is. They love each other, yet she’s heartbroken.

She sobs out all the tears she was holding in before.

Because she can’t marry him. She can’t marry anyone. Even if it’s Bellamy, and he’d never consider owning her or trapping her or limiting her. All her freedom would still be tied to him. And she’d be a Princess again, and the thought revolts her.

She loves him, but she can’t marry him, and that’s the end of the matter. Clarke can’t give up her freedom for him.

After a long time crying, the rips in her heart seem to scab over, just a little. They’ll just have to deal with this as it is. Go on with their mission, keep their trust. Ignore their heartbreak.

It’s been too long. She needs to go back, because he won’t have slept at all. And he’ll worry.

The trudge back to camp, her second one of the night now, is her most morose of all. Every step feels heavy, every breath harsh and aching.

He’s already sitting up as she enters the clearing. He probably knew she was coming.

One look at her face, and she opens up her conclusions to him. Bellamy nods, heavy. But he still looks up at her through his eyelashes.

‘I wouldn’t try to keep you, as Gabriel would,’ he says. ‘As any other would. I’d never dream to try and change you. You’d be your own.’

‘I know you wouldn’t,’ Clarke sighs, sitting back down on her bedroll. ‘But everyone would see it as that. And the obligation would be there. That I was your wife. A princess.’

He shakes his head, but she knows he’s not disagreeing with her. It’s just despair.

‘I understand.’

Neither of them lie down to sleep, but they don’t talk either. They stare silently into the fire. Resentment burns slowly in Clarke’s stomach, not at Bellamy, but at the whole situation. Their Graces, their nobility, her childhood.

‘You know,’ Bellamy says suddenly, tentatively. ‘Heartbreak isn’t the only alternative to marriage.’

She frowns, glancing up at him. ‘What do you mean?’

He shifts uncomfortably, for once not staring her down. His eyes stare into the flames instead and they reflect the orange light back to her. The mix of firelight and gold make it seem like his irises are glowing.

‘I know how you grew up. What’s expected of a princess, or a prince. Any nobility, really. But…’

Suddenly, she grasps what he’s trying to say.

Together without marriage.

Clarke grew up in a castle, in a kingdom with conservative values and strict rules about what was allowed under courting. Kissing sometimes, but not anything past that, and the majority of the time was spent under supervision, until the vows were read.

What he was suggesting…

Well, she knew he hadn’t grown up altogether noble. She guesses that this is more normal for him, that people could be lovers, without having had a wedding.

‘Something like that,’ he says, answering her wondering. ‘It’s still not common. But Clarke…’ he breathes out again, lifting his eyes up. ‘I love you, however you’ll have me.’

The sincerity in his voice chokes Clarke for a moment. ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ she manages. The concept is so foreign. ‘Where would we go from there? There’s no security, no promise, no legal merit to our…’

‘I don’t care. I trust you.’

As she trusts him.

Her upbringing has never let her even think about love outside of marriage. It was so simple, to look at it this way. Endlessly complex, too.

But tinged with hope.

Could she be with him, and still be free? Unshackled by the binds of marriage, by kingdoms and alliances and obligations and piety? It makes her blush, to think about what that would entail. She’s no innocent, but a continuing love affair was very different to stolen kisses from occasional visiting nobles or soldiers. And she never loved any of them.

It’s overwhelming, to put it plainly. And Clarke’s suddenly tired like she never is. Not from her body, but her _mind_ is fatigued. Her heart.

‘I need to think,’ she ends up telling him, trying to calm the harsh thump in her chest.

He grimaces. ‘Please…will you stay here? I need to sleep, and if you go off again, I’ll just worry.’

Bellamy doesn’t need to worry about her. But she knows that he’ll worry anyway, and so she nods. ‘I’ll stay,’ she whispers.

The fire has begun to die down already, and Bellamy shifts to stoke it into a slow burning for their sleep. ‘Alright. Goodnight, Princess.’ And before she can blink, he leans over, and kisses her softly on the cheek.

If her heart was thumping before, it’s hammering, spiking, now. Her cheek tingles as he pulls away, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods, lies down, and rolls over to sleep. Just like that.

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, but Clarke still waits a few more minutes to be sure, watching. And then she allows her brain to fully consider the possibility in front of her.

A lover. A partner. That’s what he’s offering, she’s pretty sure. More serious than the flirting that’s allowed during courting. All the things in a marriage, but without the cage, the legal chain around her ankle.

The concept still nagged at her. Since she was a child, love has always been presented to her around vows and promises.

But this is Bellamy. She’s comfortable with him like she’s never been before. And how much stock should she put in the traditions of where she grew up, anyway? Sanctum isn’t home. Not anymore.

Slowly but surely, Bellamy is becoming her home. And isn’t that what marriage truly is?

Yet if she did take up this offer, would she still feel at liberty? Or was it the entire concept of love that would hold her down?

The questions swirl around in her head, until incredibly, they send her to sleep, without her needing to ask.

*

The morning isn’t as awkward as Clarke feared, but it’s still a little tense. She feels like she’s stepping on glass around him, and she’s pretty sure Bellamy feels a similar way.

But soon enough they’re back on the horses and discussing directions, chatting about their plans, and it’s easy, like it always is with him.

No matter what happens, they’re a team.

The next few days sees them climbing steadily higher into the mountains, the terrain becoming steeper and colder with every ridge. It’s amazing watching the landscape descend behind them. Clarke’s never been so far away from Sanctum.

Luckily for her, Bellamy’s just as intrigued by their surroundings. He’s routinely distracted by his Grace, as more and more animals around him make their presence known, and he relates what he senses to Clarke.

‘There’s a goat hiding behind that rock formation,’ Bellamy shakes his head in disbelief. ‘And there’s a tree with a beehive hanging from it up ahead, if you feel like some honey.’

He grins at her, and though it pulls at her heartstrings, it also makes Clarke happy. To see him light up with joy at what his Grace brings him.

Unfortunately, his Grace also makes him want to go off on other paths to investigate things, and Clarke has to remind him of their mission. ‘I wish we could ditch the horses before we got to the last inn,’ she tells him. ‘I’d be faster without them.’

Bellamy frowns. ‘But we’d be much more tired. Are you not fatigued?’

Clarke shrugs. He huffs, stretching out his arms. ‘I’m knackered, Princess. Riding for days on end like this isn’t natural. You aren’t even sore?’

‘No,’ she says. ‘Maybe I can just ignore it.’

But Bellamy shakes his head. ‘Your Grace is much more than fighting.’

He’s said it before, and Clarke wants to think about it this time. Maybe there is some merit to his theory. She really doesn’t feel travel-worn at all.

There are more pressing things to think about, though.

They haven’t talked about it since that night. Bellamy left the ball firmly in her court. He’s just as steady, reliable, comfortable as he was before.

‘Do you really not care about marrying me?’ Clarke finds herself asking out of the blue as their horses struggle their way up a slippery path.

He frowns in thought, steering his horse carefully. They’re at the top of the incline before he replies.

‘Not in the way you think. Of course I want to marry you. But not for any political or social reason,’ he sighs, looking back at her shyly. ‘I only want to marry you because that’s what we do in our world, when you love someone. But as long as we believe in us and my family knew we were happy, then I don’t really care.’

Clarke presses her lips together. ‘I wouldn’t be making you unhappy? I could leave you at any time.’

‘I’m willing to risk that, Princess.’ He smirks at her. ‘And technically, I could leave you too.’ But he softens. ‘If you decided to leave me, I’d know why, so at least I’d have an explanation and know it was best. And if we stay together, then we’ll be happy.’ Bellamy shrugs. ‘So I’m ready to risk that small chance of unhappiness for you.’

It frightens her, that she thinks she probably feels the same way.

They stop that night, and Clarke’s jittery. They still have the horses, but Clarke had hoped by now to reach the inn that would stable their horses and allow them to stock up on supplies for the mountain crossing proper. It’s making her impatient, that they still have to ride.

‘You go hunt,’ Bellamy tells her, seeing her fidgeting hands. ‘Release some energy. I’ll check the maps again. But I doubt it’s much further.’

It’s a good idea, so she takes a knife and tries to concentrate on tracking some food down. She’s sure that the inn would give them nicer treatment if she had some meat to trade.

But even though she catches a good three rabbits, she’s still buzzing when she arrives back to camp. Her chest feels tight, and her feet can’t keep still, jolting up and down as they sit and skin their meal.

‘What can I do?’ Bellamy eventually asks. Of course he’s noticed that she’s even more wound up than usual.

And an idea comes to her. ‘Will you fight me?’

They haven’t fought in a few days, and especially not since their confessions. Bellamy looks thrown. ‘I suppose…’

‘If you don’t want to, that’s okay,’ Clarke tells him. ‘But I’m not angry, I promise. I just think it might focus me. Distract me.’

Bellamy smiles. ‘Okay, Princess.’ He sets their rabbits aside and stands up, reaching out a hand. He pulls her up and they wander through the trees until they can’t see the fire anymore, and it’s much darker than usual.

‘Alright,’ comes his voice out of the night. ‘This seems like a good place.’

‘Cool,’ Clarke says. ‘Hit me.’

There’s a pause, and then his fist slams into her shoulder and they’re tussling. It’s perfect, because Clarke can’t fidget or focus on her short breathing or be any sort of anxious. Because she’s in the thrill of the fight.

They’re a few minutes in when Clarke’s grabbing his hand and feels that it’s slick with something. Concerned, she halts them.

‘Wait. Is your hand bleeding?’

He stops too, and Clarke manages to grab at it, squinting at it in the darkness. ‘Maybe,’ Bellamy says indifferently. ‘It doesn’t hurt…’

Clarke huffs. ‘Doesn’t mean it’s not serious. Come on.’ She drags him through the bushes back to the firelight to examine the cut.

‘It might have been your boot,’ Bellamy says grudgingly, and Clarke frowns.

‘We shouldn’t be fighting in boots. Last time I made you bleed too.’

Bellamy rolls his eyes. ‘We can’t fight in a forest barefoot. I’m fine, Princess.’

‘I should still clean it,’ Clarke decides, and turns to go to the packs for the medicine. But before she can, his other hand catches her chin.

‘There’s blood on your cheek,’ he says.

‘Probably from your hand,’ Clarke points out. But it’s the only coherent thought she has, because the feeling of his fingertips on her cheek is sending her mind awhirl. Bellamy looks slightly dazed too, seeming not to notice as his fingers drift up the edge of her face and brushes some hair from her forehead away.

‘Um,’ she says, and his hand jerks away.

He blinks. ‘Sorry. Uh…’

‘It’s fine,’ Clarke manages. She goes to the pack and gets Bellamy to sit down nearer to the fire so she can wrap the cut up. ‘Here, this is proper medicine,’ she teases.

‘I know how to wrap a wound. This just isn’t a wound,’ he rolls his eyes.

Clarke holds his one hand in her two, smoothing down the bandage. It’s strangely intimate, and she finds herself having to blank out her thoughts like she does when they’re riding. His fingers are rough and calloused, nothing like a prince’s. But in a way his skin is soft too, warm and firm as she tucks in the ends of the bandage. ‘Better safe than sorry.’

Bellamy huffs, but is still as she fiddles with the wrapping. He flexes his hand once she’s returned it to him and smiles at her.

‘Alright, Princess. We didn’t finish our fight. Round two?’

She nods and they get up again, closer to the fire this time, because apparently Bellamy doesn’t mind giving up his advantage in the darkness for now.

He strikes first once again, and she blocks it, managing to catch and twist his arm.

‘You could at least go easy, if I’m giving my advantage up,’ Bellamy grumbles, and kicks out his leg to knock Clarke onto her knees. But he doesn’t manage to get out of her grip in time, and he plunges down with her, and they’re scrabbling on the ground, the push and pull of their fight causing them to roll across the leaves.

Finally, she has him pinned, eerily reminiscent of that first time in the tunnels, when she’d thought about his lack of soft belly, his impressively hard abs.

‘You knew,’ she gasps, and he grins up at her.

‘I was very flattered,’ he assures, and she fights off a laugh. His smile is bright and unrestrained, happiness crinkling the corner of his eyes. His eyes, that yet again pull her in. The gold. The brown. But even without them, she thinks, I’d love you.

And she decides, in that small, infinite moment, that he’s worth it.

Bellamy’s smile slackens for a second, as his Grace must tell him what she just thought. His face grows serious, his eyes sliding to her mouth. Clarke stares at his too.

She doesn’t know who moves first.

The first touch of his lips to hers sends a tingle down her spine, down her arms and legs. The kiss is light at first, hesitant. But then Clarke whimpers, as she realises what she’s missed these last few days.

She wants him so badly.

With that, Bellamy loosens his left hand from where she’s pinning it to the ground and brings it up to her cheek. Then he’s kissing her deeper, his hand reaching around to pull her head closer, and she goes with him, hungry.

Clarke’s the one who slides her tongue along his lips and he opens for her. Then she’s bringing her own hands up to his face, cupping his chin as she kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.

Her knees slip to each side of his chest as she leans over him, balancing as they trade kisses back and forth, making out, barely stopping to breathe. Clarke feels Bellamy’s other hand reach around to her lower back, caressing it gently, and it suddenly all catches up to her.

She’s kissing Bellamy Blake, because she’s in love with him, and he loves her, and her chest is absolutely exploding. How could she ever deny herself this pure, utter joy?

After minutes, probably, of taking no breaths, because she can’t stand to stop, Clarke finally pulls herself up, because her back is aching. Seeing Bellamy’s closed eyes and kiss-bruised mouth causes her to smile, and then laugh, as he opens his eyes and smiles back at her, dazed and bright.

Clarke lets herself drop properly down onto him, burying her head into his neck, not caring that her hair’s pressing into the dirt. He clutches his arms around her tightly, twining their legs together.

‘Are you sure?’ he whispers, and she lifts herself up again to glare at him.

‘You know I am.’

His glowing eyes seem to light up even further, but instead of kissing her again, he sits up, laughing when she purses her lips.

‘Here,’ he says and tugs her into his lap. ‘A bit more comfortable, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t care,’ Clarke tells him honestly, and his lips find hers again. Their kisses are heated again, quicker. No matter what she just said, Clarke does appreciate this position, because she can reach around and run her hands through his hair. He smiles into the next kiss, his other hand still warm on her lower back.

She doesn’t know how long they sit there lost in each other, the fire crackling a few yards away. It’s only when her stomach makes a distinct gurgling sound that Bellamy chuckles and pulls away, brushing a hand up her spine and planting small kisses at the corner of her mouth.

‘We probably shouldn’t miss dinner,’ he says. ‘This is hungry work.’

‘As much as I hate to admit it,’ Clarke murmurs back. The fondness in his eyes lights an inferno in her heart. With him and his heat, she doesn’t need a fire to stay warm.

It takes a couple more kisses and Bellamy’s stomach to growl too before they finally shift themselves over to the fire. Soon the rabbits are roasting, and Clarke tucks herself under his broad arm to watch their dinner cook.

She’s never felt more content.

‘You’re happy,’ Bellamy murmurs, but not like a question.

Clarke frowns. ‘You can even tell that?’

Bellamy smirks into her hair. ‘Well it is mostly about me.’

He’s right, but Clarke still lightly slaps his knee. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I’m very happy.’

‘And marriage? You don’t mind that we’re not being proper, Princess?’

‘If anything, it probably makes it better.’

Bellamy snorts. ‘Rebel at heart, huh?’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘No. Well, yes. But I realised you were right.’ She turns to him, tilts his face down for another soft kiss. ‘I love you, however you’ll have me. And there’s nothing marriage has that we need. We have each other, and I trust you.’

‘And who needs those stuffy royal rules anyway?’ Bellamy teases, and she grins into another kiss.

‘Yeah, who needs them?’

It’s the best dinner she’s ever had, even though they burn the rabbit when they get distracted. She has Bellamy’s warm arm around her shoulders, his fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the ends of her hair while he bites into his rabbit leg.

And when they’re both finished, she tucks herself back into his side.

‘Tell me a story.’

Bellamy hums, and Clarke can feel the deep vibrations in his chest.

‘What kind of story?’

She shrugs. ‘One you used to tell Octavia. One that’s less real than the story of Alie. I have a feeling that’s about to become all too tangible to us.’

He hums again, deep in thought, before he goes to get up, and Clarke protests. But he just smiles. ‘Let’s get out the bedrolls, stoke down the fire. Come on.’

Clarke acquiesces and they line up their bedrolls right next to each other. Unfortunately, neither is big enough for them to sleep in one together, but she figures they’ll make it work.

Once they’re comfortable, Bellamy turns to her and Clarke settles in for the story, leaning her head on her hand.

‘Alright,’ Bellamy says. ‘I have one. It used to be O’s favourite when she was younger.’ He closes his eyes, as if summoning the tale from his memory.

‘Once there was a kingdom where magical, colourful animals lived. These animals were called monsters, and they came in all sorts of bright hues, and they were so beautiful that people were entranced by them. There were also human monsters – people who were inhumanly attractive, with hair that glowed in amazing colours. But there was only one human monster left, because they also had the power to entrance people, and humans with that kind of power weren’t always trusted.

‘The human monster was a young woman, who lived in the north of the kingdom, far away from the city, where people would stare and distrust her. She lived with her best friend and his family, and she was happy, even though she had to navigate difficult circumstances, as a monster. But one day, war came to the kingdom, and it turned out that the human monster’s talents could help with the war effort. The young King and his brother, the General, came to take the human monster to the city. The King was enamoured with the monster, but the General hated her. He didn’t trust her at all, and thought she was just like her family, who had been monsters in ways beyond that of their unnatural beauty.

‘But over time the human monster proved that she was a valuable and trustworthy citizen of the kingdom. She got along well with the royal family and helped them in covert activities in efforts to stop the war. Over time, the General realised he had misjudged the monster, and she realised that he was much more than a General – he was smart, funny, and kind, and although he was always leaving for the war, they eventually fell in love.

‘Unfortunately, there was more than just war complicating things. An entity had invaded the kingdom at its time of crisis, forcing people to do things they didn’t want to do. The human monster was kidnapped, her fingers chopped off, and her best friend was killed.

‘Eventually she escaped from the entity and made her way back to the war effort and began helping the King. And finally, she was reunited with the General, who kissed her a thousand times. Together they stopped the war, although the King was almost killed. But finally in peacetime and free to love each other, the human monster and the General discussed what they loved about each other. The monster told him that she loved when he kissed her, because he was good at it. And he replied that that was lucky, because he would always kiss her, as long as she would have him.’

It’s cute. Not the most fleshed out story, but Clarke smiles, thinking of Bellamy telling his sister the romantic tale. ‘And did they live happily ever after?’

He smiles back and shrugs. ‘I’m not sure. Do you think so?’

She hums and scoots closer to him, reaching out a hand to cup his jaw. ‘I think so. I know what she means, about kissing.’

‘And what’s that?’ Bellamy’s pupils grow, his eyes darkening. There’s still a thin rim of the gold around his eye, but all Clarke can feel is his unrelenting gaze.

‘You’re good at it.’

Bellamy leans in and kisses her, softly at first. But she’s hungry for him again, and soon their lips are moving together furiously. Bellamy’s arms wrap around her torso, and he rolls her back so he’s hovering above her, only inches away.

‘Probably need to test that theory, Princess,’ and he leans in to kiss the corner of her mouth, and then her jaw, just light at first.

‘How do you mean?’ Clarke manages to breathe out, and she feels his smile against her cheek.

‘Need to kiss you everywhere.’

Clarke doesn’t protest; she buries her hand in his curls again and arches her neck up, giving him access. He lathers long, open-mouthed kisses down the skin, below her ear, chin, and down to her shoulders and collarbone.

‘I think I can get on board with that,’ Clarke says, and he laughs. She squirms underneath him and retracts her arms for a second so she can begin unbuttoning the blouse that’s covering far too much of her chest.

‘Let me,’ Bellamy whispers, and his deft fingers work down the shirt, slowly revealing the riding corset underneath. He groans and begins untying the cords, and Clarke tugs at his shirt in return.

He only pauses for a second, lifting himself up and divesting himself of his top, and Clarke takes in his golden form, splaying her hands on his ribs, his stomach. Then over his heart.

But Bellamy just leans back in, and with her help they manage to rid her of the corset, and he pauses as he takes in her naked torso, breathing out slowly. Clarke grins up at him.

‘Like what you see?’ It was about time she got to see his reaction to her, when he’s known her reaction to him all this time.

Bellamy swallows, leaning down and pressing two perfunctory kisses to the tops of her breasts. ‘Yeah, Princess,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re beautiful.’

Clarke flushes, but it’s hard to be too embarrassed with him staring at her like she’s a sight to behold. He barely even blinks.

‘How could I, when I get to look at you?’ He teases, and she blushes again, but soon she forgets his words because he’s sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth and laving his tongue over her nipples. Clarke forgets to think about a lot of things for a second, just enjoying the sensation of his mouth on her and running her fingers up the muscles of his arms.

Eventually, when Clarke begins squirming even more, heat and fire burning slowly up from her centre, he descends. Down her ribs, kissing her stomach and hips before his fingers flirt with the waistband of her pants.

‘This okay?’ he asks, and she hauls him up for a second, just to kiss him, because as much as she loves his mouth on her body, she misses him at her lips.

‘I love you,’ she says. ‘Kiss me everywhere.’

Bellamy groans into her mouth and takes a second to leave her, but he does. His fingers untie her trousers, and Clarke helps him shift the fabric down her legs. She kicks them off once they’re at her feet, and although there’s a slight wind, and goosebumps have pricked up where the cold has met her skin, the heat of Bellamy above her keeps the flame inside her burning hot.

He nuzzles the juncture of her thighs and hip, pressing kisses down her leg until Clarke whines his name, and he smiles again. Bellamy lifts her legs up, hooks them over his shoulders, and even that act has Clarke shuddering with anticipation before he licks into her, and she lets out a sound she never has before.

‘Good, Princess?’

Clarke nods frantically, and that’s all he needs to start kissing her there, licking long stripes over her centre. She’s never felt so good before. He builds up pressure on that small point, sucking it between his lips and teeth. He doesn’t let up, even as she pulls sharply at his hair, and all too soon, with his hair tickling her stomach and the sight of him between her legs, she’s gasping as she eclipses the edge.

Bellamy doesn’t stop kissing her there, but his movements become softer, and when she finally blinks back at him and recovers her breath, he’s grinning up at her, cocky as ever.

‘What?’ She scowls, and he shakes his head.

‘You’re just beautiful.’

Clarke tilts her head back, cheeks burning, but that doesn’t stop him from starting his mouth up again, and this time he dips his tongue inside her, and Clarke gasps before she groans. He hums a question she can’t quite decipher, but the vibrations remind her how close he is to her and all she can do is run her hands through his hair again, tugging gently, this time, at the strands. Yes, she thinks. Yes.

Bellamy slides one of his hands down from where he’d had it splayed on her stomach, keeping her still. He caresses her leg and then moves his fingers up to where his mouth is, and teases a finger over her centre, not dipping in just yet. It’s as if he’s waiting, once again, for her go ahead, and it just makes desire well up in Clarke even fiercer.

His Grace is useful for this – as she thinks to him her absolute permission, his other hand on her hip runs a thumb over the bone, and Clarke understands that it’s his way of telling her that he’s heard her.

Heard what she wants.

His fingers slip inside her, just two at first, but Clarke’s hips start to buck up as she chases more, more, more. Another finger joins in and the perfect movement of them together with his tongue still licking and sucking her centre soon sends her careening over the edge again, even brighter, even harder.

‘Gods, Bellamy,’ she breathes, and beckons him back up to her. He’s obviously pleased with himself, a smirk playing around his lips, but Clarke shuts him up before he can say anything, licking the taste of herself out of his mouth.

‘Okay, Princess?’ He murmurs, and Clarke rolls her eyes, taking her turn to nuzzle under his jaw, pressing kisses down his neck.

‘You know it was,’ she says. But she wants even more than just his fingers and mouth.

Bellamy lifts himself back off her, eyes burning down at her. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

‘Yeah?’

Clarke just runs her hands over his shoulders, then back down his chest to his stomach, and dips her fingers under his waistband this time. ‘Please.’

His next kisses are fierce and unrelenting, and Clarke has to push him off to remind him of what she wants, giggling. Together they slide off his trousers, and Bellamy eases her legs open with warm hands.

‘I love you,’ he says as he slides in, and Clarke doesn’t even know which is better, the feeling of him in her or those words from his lips.

It takes a few strokes, but soon they build a rhythm together and he’s sliding against a spot inside her that has her gasping and craning her neck to kiss him again. ‘You feel so good, Princess,’ he mutters into her mouth, and she doesn’t even reply, just peppers kisses on his cheeks, keening as he changes angles, clutching her hands around him. He thrusts firmly, quickly, divinely, until he slows down a little too much for her liking, and Clarke rolls them, easing him onto his back. He grins up at her.

‘What?’ she asks him, as she sinks herself down again, chasing the tempo that will increase her heart-rate even more, that cascades more fire into that heady sensation building up again.

‘Nothing,’ he murmurs, thrusting up, his breath short as the pace increases. She lets out a whine as she gets closer and closer. ‘I just should have known you’d want to win.’

Of all the things to send her over the edge – his bad joke and the smile in his eyes. She’s pretty sure she blacks out for a second, unable to feel her legs as he takes over the movement, chasing his own release until he too is groaning out her name, the best way anyone’s ever said it.

Clarke slumps onto his chest, smiling into his neck, and he brings up a hand to brush through her hair, kissing her cheek.

‘Well,’ she says. ‘I enjoyed that.’

Bellamy laughs properly, shaking with it, and Clarke holds herself up with what little energy she has left to lean down and kiss him. It figures that riding for days and throwing punches didn’t wear her out, but Bellamy loving her _quite_ well? Absolutely did.

‘A good kind of tired, right?’

‘The best kind,’ Clarke assures him, and closes her eyes as she rolls off him back onto her own bedroll. ‘I actually feel like sleeping now. I can’t believe you’ve found my hidden weakness.’

Bellamy sits up and finds their clothes for them, leans over to spread the blanket out over their bodies. ‘If this is how I get you to sleep, I suppose it’s a burden I must bear.’

She whacks him on the chest, snorting, and he catches her hand, giving it a small kiss. Clarke’s heart melts. She can’t believe how lucky she’s just become. The kingdoms may be in crisis and they may be running headfirst into a deadly mystery, but with him by her side, it feels like nothing can phase her.

‘Thank you,’ she says, and he frowns.

‘For what?’

She nuzzles closer to him, content as his arm floats down over her, and she can already feel sleep knocking. He really did tire her out. ‘For not giving up on us. Not letting our hearts break. For pointing out I don’t need a legal obligation to let me kiss you.’

‘And more,’ he adds cheekily, but he sighs and pulls her closer. ‘Any time, Clarke.’ She thinks he might say something else, but she’s unsure what, because she succumbs to slumber at the sound of her name in his deep, fond voice.

*

It’s nice to travel with someone you love, although it does make them slower, because Bellamy has a fondness for stopping to kiss her just because he can. Clarke loves it, but she also would love to be going faster, so she’s relieved when they reach the high mountain inn. They give a very grateful owner some meat to trade for some mountain crossing supplies and finally stable their horses. From now, they’re on foot. They have to considerably shed their weapon stash – they take as many knives as they can, but just one gun with double the ammunition, and sling the rest of their supplies on their back.

Bellamy marvels at the change of scenery, as the trees steadily decline in number and mountain shrubs and much rockier surfaces appear underfoot. Clarke loves the sharp air this high up, the blinding light reflecting off snowy peaks above them. This pass is the easiest way through the mountains anyone has found, a lucky path found by some explorer long ago. It doesn’t ascend to the heights of the southern mountains but winds its way between the blunter peaks of the north.

They find a cave for their first night, and they lean against the rock wall, huddled in a new, bigger bedroll they’d traded for. Clarke’s mastery with the fire hasn’t let up, and Bellamy just grins as she coaxes the flame from the little wood they found in the shrubbery.

‘C’mere.’ He reaches a hand out, and she sits back down next to him. They eat slowly, enjoying the time together, chatting back and forth. Sometimes Clarke catches Bellamy just staring at her, his eyes taking her breath away each time. But he just elbows her back and tells her she stares just as much.

They’re as pathetic as each other.

When they’re full, Clarke notices Bellamy packing away their things in the bags, the rings on his hands gleaming. She’s always wondering what they mean.

He finishes his task and wiggles his way back next to her, placing his hands in hers. Her fingers dance across his knuckles, across the smooth curves of the rings. He wears seven: four on his left, three on his right. All slightly different, and on varying fingers.

Bellamy, obviously knowing how curious she is, curls his left hand into a fist with just the thumb poking out. On it is a gold ring made of circles linked together.

‘This one’s for Octavia,’ he says. She raises her eyebrows.

‘They’re for people?’

He chuckles. ‘That’s what Arcadian rings are. For family, friends. Loved ones.’

‘So this is for your sister,’ she says, running a finger over the metal. She bets that the pattern means something, perhaps about the bond between siblings? The circles also probably stand for her name. He does call her O. When she looks up at him, he just rolls his eyes, nodding.

‘Pretty much exactly right. This is for Luna,’ he adds, pointing his index finger out this time. This ring is in a sort of curvy, wavy pattern. ‘It’s for the waves. She loves the sea,’ he explains.

On his middle finger is a thick ring, stately and royal-looking. ‘For Wells,’ he says. It suits him. Steady and noble, just like the prince Clarke rescued all those weeks ago.

His second last finger is bare, and he smirks when she asks why. ‘It would be for my spouse. Or lover.’ He kisses her, and she gets distracted by that for a while before drawing back, because she _is _curious.

‘And the little finger?’

‘I had this made just before they left. It’s for Madi,’ he says. The little ring is tiny and delicate. Perfect for a five-year-old relative, she’s guessing. She wonders if it will suit the twelve-year-old they’re hopefully going to meet.

Clarke grabs for his right hand. ‘And these?’

‘The left hand is for friends, siblings, lovers,’ he explains. ‘People of a similar generation.’ He flexes his right hand. The rings look interesting. ‘The right is where we put parents and children. This is for my mother.’

He pokes out his thumb again. It’s a small, plain ring, but when Clarke peers closer, she can see it’s inscribed with tiny words. ‘What does it say?’

‘It’s a quote from a book we loved to read together.’ Bellamy wiggles his hands in hers. ‘My father is dead, so I don’t wear a ring for him.’

Clarke frowns. ‘Is that normal?’

Bellamy smiles sadly. ‘When a loved one dies, we take the ring off. Either we wear it as another piece of jewellery, or we bury it with them. It’s a choice. I didn’t know my father very well, so it would be strange for me to keep one. Besides, he died before I was old enough to have a ring for him.

She hums, squeezing his hand and moving onto his middle finger. This ring is the grandest of all, one with a sharp, shiny stone embedded in the centre.

‘This is the one you scratched me with when we fought,’ she remembers, and he grimaces.

‘Yeah. I’d rather not wear this one, but I’m a prince, so. It’s for Thelonious. Technically my father, remember. And the King.’ It was definitely fancier than his other ones, and it didn’t necessarily suit him. But Bellamy was nothing if not loyal. Of course he wore it, still.

His last ring is on his fourth finger, and it’s Clarke’s favourite.

‘That figures,’ he teases. ‘It’s mine.’

‘Yours?’

He shrugs. ‘The mark of my princehood. But it also just represents me.’ This ring is intricate, and instead of one large stone, it has two tiny gems sitting next to each other. One a yellowy golden colour, one a brown that matches his eye.

‘For your Grace,’ Clarke realises, and he smiles.

‘People who wear a ring for me also have these gems in them.’

It makes Clarke want one, and he kisses her on the cheek. ‘Maybe one day,’ he says.

She grasps his hands in hers again, revelling in the feel of his skin, even it’s just a small part. ‘So if you had a child, their ring would go on this little finger?’

‘Exactly.’ He raises his hands, holding them up in front of them, matching each finger with its opposite on the other hand. ‘See, they’re parallel. Thumb for my closest family, my mother and Octavia. Index finger for relation to my father. Middle finger for the royal family, the Jahas. Fourth finger for me and my potential romantic partner.’ He nudges her. ‘And the little finger for children, or younger relatives and friends.’

Clarke grins. ‘Are all Arcadians as organised with their rings?’ The look on his face tells her the answer, and she giggles.

‘Hey,’ he protests. ‘This is the traditional way. And the fourth finger will always be for yourself and your partner.’ But he sighs. ‘Not everyone cares about the rest. But I like keeping the tradition,’ he admits grudgingly, and she captures his hands again and drops a kiss on the ring that’s his.

‘I think it’s sweet,’ she declares, and he rolls his eyes.

‘You done with me yet?’

Clarke reaches up for yet another kiss. ‘I mean it you know. Not marriage, but. I’d love to have a ring that represents you, just the same.’

Bellamy softens. ‘I’d have to find some blue and silver gems. For your ring.’

She hums. ‘Do all Gracelings have rings that represent their eyes?’

He nods. ‘I thought you would have known. Arcadians honour the Graced. We’re different, but not outcasts. Revered instead of feared.’

‘That sounds nice,’ says Clarke, and rests her head on his shoulder. He lifts a hand and begins stroking it through her hair, and she sighs with contentment. This is her favourite thing about Bellamy’s Grace, or maybe just Bellamy himself. He always knew exactly what she wanted. How to make her happy.

‘I don’t know which it is,’ Bellamy mumbles into her hair, seemingly tired himself. ‘I’m just happy I can make you happy.’

Clarke readjusts them so they’re lying down again, ready to sleep. They’re facing each other, their foreheads touching. She’ll probably move away in her sleep, but for now she’s happy just looking at him. His eyes closed, peaceful.

Does she make him happy too?

Bellamy opens his eyes just for a second, a slight, weary grin spreading over his features. ‘The happiest.’

*

‘You know,’ Bellamy says out of the blue a few days after they pass the inn. ‘When you want to talk to me with my Grace, you don’t have to do it in words.’

That’s what Clarke usually does. She thinks each idea out for him word by word: there’s a pond over there; can they stop for a break? What does he want for lunch?

‘No?’

‘Just the thought is enough. And I know you pretty well by now. I can interpret even the weirdest things.’

So, they practice. Clarke tries not to use words in her head, but just connects him to the idle thoughts she has, not any that have significance. Just emotions, feelings, observations, to see if he can decipher them.

He picks them up, every time. It’s magical, really. To have someone understand her without the need for sentences. Effortless communication, because often she can read his expressive face back just as well as he can sense her thoughts.

She still likes hearing his voice though, and she teases him that he just wants her to stop talking. Bellamy rolls his eyes. ‘If I wanted you to stop talking, I’d just kiss you,’ he points out.

It’s just _fun _being with him. Fun travelling, fun talking, fun kissing.

But as they finally approach the mid-point of the mountains, tension ramps up as they realise this bliss that they’ve found themselves in won’t last forever.

What will they do once they reach the City of Light? How much will Alie be able to affect her? Were Luna and Madi in serious danger?

They begin to speed up. Clarke isn’t tired, but she sees Bellamy flagging sometimes as he struggles to keep up with her endurance.

‘Gods, Princess,’ he gasps out as they finish climbing a particularly steep ridge. ‘You’re not even tired?’

‘How many times have you asked me that?’

Bellamy just shakes his head. ‘Seriously. I’m exhausted. And the cold makes it even more difficult to fall asleep at night. But you look like you’re not even suffering.’

She wasn’t. Clarke blinks as she assesses the difference between Bellamy and her in the mornings. He always has to stretch out his muscles, yawning hugely while Clarke is just ready and eager to go. She thinks about what he said, all those weeks ago, about her Grace being more than killing.

Clarke doesn’t share her thoughts with him, but she does ruminate. Her Grace has always been killing, hasn’t it? Maybe she should think back to the start.

Josephine. Trying to kill her. The impact of her hand to her cousin’s jaw, revealing her talent for pain.

But wasn’t it true that she’d done the impossible only a few moments before that? She escaped Josephine’s Grace, subverted it, and used it to keep her cousin from throwing her body off the balcony. And she’d managed to push her out, that first moment, when Josephine had tried to make her kiss Gabriel.

It was self-defence, ultimately. Clarke lists all her skills to herself. Unbeatable fighter, fast reflexes, unerring aim. The talents of a killer.

But she can also see well in the dark. Light a fire anywhere at any time. She’s never sick or fully, properly tired. Something strange occurs to her.

‘Bellamy?’

‘Mm?’

‘Can you tell yourself to fall asleep?’

He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

Clarke huffs. ‘Like. When you go to bed. Do you tell your body to go sleep, and then it does?’

Bellamy looks baffled. ‘No? Usually I just have to wait, after I close my eyes. In less cold conditions, I’m quick at falling asleep, but I certainly can’t force myself to.’

‘Hmm.’

She looks around at the shrubs on the mountain. Right now, they’re at the bottom of some sort of crevasse or canyon, and it’s twisted and turned quite a bit. But she knows with unerring certainty that if she turns a few degrees to her right, that way would be east.

You didn’t need an internal sense of direction to murder. But you did need it to keep yourself alive, if you were lost somewhere in the wilderness. A small, hopeful bubble swells up in Clarke’s heart.

What if she wasn’t Graced with killing. What if her Grace was something else entirely?

She waits till they bunker down for the night to float the idea with Bellamy.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hey?’

‘What would you say if I said I thought my Grace might not just be killing.’

Bellamy smiles. ‘I would say I told you so, Princess.’ But he sobers at the serious expression on her face. ‘Why? What do you think it is?’

Clarke chews on her lip. ‘I think it keeps me alive,’ she finally says. It’s a relief to say out loud. It feels like she’s exonerating herself somehow. That Josephine’s death wasn’t just a manifestation of her inner nature. That she’s been saving herself. That all that time, her aunt and uncle had just been exploiting the talents she had for their own agenda.

Bellamy doesn’t say anything for a second, and it worries Clarke. But it turns out he’s just turning over his own conclusions in his head. ‘Your real Grace is survival?’

When he puts it like that, it seems so simple.

‘Maybe it is that simple, Princess.’ He grabs her hand. ‘I’m certainly not complaining. If that’s your Grace, it means you’ll be around for a long time.’

Clarke’s never looked so long term for herself. It’s always been the next Eden mission or the next unsavoury task from the King and Queen. Marriage always blocked that sight of her future, the dread of becoming chained down to someone, used for their own means.

Here, with Bellamy, realising that she’s so much more than murder, it’s like a path has opened up. If they can get through these next, dangerous days, that is. It’s funny. What they’re facing…it’s hard to have hope they can defeat someone with a Grace like that.

Bellamy grins at her thoughts, pulls her in for a kiss. ‘If you’re still breathing, then I’ll always have hope.’

It’s a while before they’re ready to have dinner that night.

*

The next day is freezing. Even Clarke can feel the icy temperature cooling her skin, so she worries for Bellamy. Luckily, he’s still a heater, and Clarke takes every excuse to walk near him as they hike closer and closer to the mid-point of the mountains. She gains warmth from him and makes sure he isn’t losing his signature body heat.

She’s sure they’ll be starting to descend any day now. That afternoon, it begins snowing. Clarke exclaims at the beauty of the falling white powder, and even Bellamy admits it’s quite a sight.

Soon though, the snow is thicker than any rain Clarke’s splashed through, and they’re forced to take shelter in a cave off to the side. There are remnants of a long ago put out fire in their found shelter. It makes sense – other people did cross the mountains.

‘I wonder if they also got stuck?’

‘Probably. I think blizzards are common in these mountains, from what I’ve read.’ Bellamy raises his eyebrows. ‘You ever been stuck before?’

Clarke has to think about it, but she doesn’t think so. The weather around the inland kingdoms are mild. But she’s heard for all their heat, Arcadia gets heavy rains.

‘Once Octavia and I were hiking,’ Bellamy tells her as they eat that night. ‘And we got stuck in the monsoon. You think you’ve seen heavy rain?’ He shakes his head. ‘We couldn’t see a yard in front of us. We had to shelter in a cave then, too, and we didn’t have any food or wood for a fire. My sister got the flu – I almost went out in the floods anyway to get some help. My Grace would have kept me safe, after all. But she didn’t know about it and was convinced I’d drown.’

It looks to Clarke like he still regrets not going anyway. That he hates that he had to watch his sister fall to illness, all because of his secret.

‘I’m not sure even your Grace would have helped if you caught a coughing sickness too,’ Clarke says, and he shrugs.

‘It still sucks that I had to prioritise like that. My mother said I did the right thing, but. I’ve always regretted it.’

Clarke leans her head on his shoulder. ‘You really can’t tell Octavia the truth?’

Bellamy lets out a heavy, burdened sigh. ‘No. I wanted to tell her. We’ve always been so close. I told you that I looked after O, when my mother was away and before we went to live with Luna’s family. But I basically raised her. And it was hard for me to keep it a secret. Both practically, because she was always around and inquisitive and observant, and emotionally, because, well. She’s my sister.’

‘What about now?’

‘Now I know my mother was right. I love Octavia, but she wouldn’t be able to help using it for her own gain. And I’d be reluctant to stop her. Tell her if someone doesn’t like her. Tell her if someone’s plotting against her.’ He shakes his head. ‘Now that she’s grown, I see how much she likes the taste of power. I love her, but I can’t trust her. Not with this.’

‘It really is just your mother and Wells, then.’

‘Yeah. That’s the other thing. I can trust Wells not to tell his father. I can’t trust Octavia with the same.’

Clarke frowns. ‘Why did you trust Wells enough to begin with?’

He laughs. ‘I didn’t. He twigged when we were young and confronted me. He’s perceptive in the normal, not-Graced way. But he never judged me, and he’s never said a word.’

‘It’s a huge deception you’ve pulled off,’ Clarke marvels. Bellamy hangs his head, and Clarke lifts it again, cupping her hand under his chin. ‘I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just meant…it’s impressive.’

‘I guess we just had to,’ Bellamy shrugs. ‘But yes. If they ever found out, there’d be a lot to forgive.’

Clarke kisses him on the cheek. ‘I hope one day you can trust them enough,’ she murmurs.

‘At least for now, I have you.’

‘Cheesy.’

‘You love it.’

She settles back against him. ‘What about when we get there? What will we tell Luna and Madi, about how Alie’s Grace doesn’t work on you?’

Bellamy sighs. ‘I’m not sure. I could always pretend it does work on me, but that would defeat the purpose. It depends how close we can get without the Queen herself interfering.’

Clarke hums. ‘They’ve been sequestering themselves away. Hopefully they won’t question anything that gets them away from Alie. I hope they’re still okay,’ she adds anxiously. Any worry she’s feeling has to be amplified by a hundred for Bellamy. He wears rings for them. They mean a lot to him.

‘There’s nothing we can do but get there as quick as possible,’ Bellamy says firmly. ‘And we can’t travel in a blizzard. So we have to rest.’

‘I’m not sure if you’re telling me that, or yourself.’

‘Both,’ Bellamy says, rueful. ‘I just wish there was a quicker way to get there.’

‘We’re going as fast as we can,’ says Clarke, but it sounds hollow to her own ears. What could be happening to Luna and Madi as they speak? A sudden, horrible thought occurs to her.

‘Bellamy. What if Luna is protecting Madi?’

Bellamy pales. ‘What do you mean?’

Clarke grimaces. ‘I mean that they’ve lived there for seven years, and only now they’re hiding. And what’s changed? Luna was an adult, but Madi is a kid. What if she reached some sort of age…?’

‘You don’t think it’s because Wells went missing?’

She bites her lip. ‘It’s probably all connected. The no pain thing is really freaking me out, too. Is it a Grace doing that or something else?’

‘We won’t know until we get there.’

‘What do we even do? Knock on the castle doors and say we’re there for a visit?’

Bellamy snorts. ‘Do you have a better idea?’

Clarke sighs. ‘No. You don’t think we could sneak in?’

‘Backup plan, maybe.’ Bellamy shifts and grasps Clarke’s hand in his own. ‘I need to ask you something.’

‘What?’

He worries his lip. ‘We don’t know how powerful she is. If I’m going to protect you…will you do what I say, no matter what? Just as a precaution. If you believe her lies, then you have the precedent of listening to me to fall back on.’

Clarke doesn’t hesitate. ‘Of course.’

‘I mean it, Clarke. I want you to commit it to memory. Trust me over anything else you hear.’

‘I trust you,’ she says. ‘I promise. I’ll do as you ask.’

‘Okay,’ Bellamy says, relaxing, like he’s been holding a breath. There are worry lines crinkling his eyes and Clarke reaches up to smooth them out, leaning up to plant a kiss on his eyelids. It gets him to smile, at least.

‘Bellamy, we can do this.’

‘Together?’

‘Together.’

*

They finally reach the mid-point of the mountains, the highest altitude of their journey. Enormous peaks tower around them to either side of the path, but to the east and west they have an amazing view. The five kingdoms behind them, and Polaris spread out in front of them like a painting.

‘Wow,’ Clarke breathes.

‘Yeah,’ Bellamy says. ‘Beautiful.’

But they can’t stay to gawk at the sight for too long. They begin descending the slopes, slowly moving into forest quite different from the one they’d just travelled in. These woods are scrappy, spread out, with much more bushes and scrub, rather than thick, round trees.

Bellamy becomes preoccupied. He barely speaks; the one time she sees his old self is when he runs off the path for a second, only to come back with his hands full of juicy, round berries.

‘I felt them,’ he tells her, and she grins. He’s still amazed at his own talents.

She pops one into her mouth, and then into his. They’re sweet.

‘So your Grace is still growing?’

He nods distractedly as they eat the rest of the berries. ‘Yeah. Before I could only feel animals, and now it’s fruit, plants. It’s making me dizzy, to be honest.’

Clarke grasps his hand. ‘Tell me if it gets to be too much, alright?’

‘Of course.’ But he squeezes tightly. ‘Clarke, you have to promise me, to do as I say.’

‘I already promised,’ she reminds him, but he looks so distressed that she softens. ‘Seriously, Bellamy. I’ll do as you say when we get there.’

‘I just want to keep you alive,’ he confesses, and Clarke’s heart clenches. ‘I’m afraid it’ll be the only way. You swear to me?’

Clarke nods seriously. ‘I swear.’

Tension is high in the camp that night, and when they wake up the next morning, it feels almost tangible in the air. Bellamy looks like he’s about to explode.

‘Are you alright?’

He grimaces. ‘To be honest? No. I don’t know if it’s my Grace or just a bad feeling, but…can we go?’

‘Yes.’ Clarke replies instantly, and they do.

They don’t do their normal walk. They power through the trees, at a much quicker pace, until Bellamy glances at her and she understands what he wants.

So they run. Clarke’s built for this, she barely gets a stitch as they thunder through the undergrowth. It takes them the day to hit the edge of the forest, and in front of them are plains – long, grassy fields that reach the horizon. It’s almost dark, and Clarke begs Bellamy to camp. She’s fine, but she’s sure he’s not.

‘I know you’re worried, but we won’t be able to help them if you collapse,’ she says.

He hates it; she can see the reluctance in eyes. But he acquiesces.

‘Fine. But only a few hours. Can you use your internal clock?’

She nods, and they go to sleep, Clarke whispering her hands through his hair in an effort to calm him.

As promised, she wakes them a few hours before dawn. His eyes are bleary, but he doesn’t complain. They scoff down some breakfast and set off running again, out into the dark fields.

Their original plan had been to walk the few day’s journey to the north, and the City of Light. But with Clarke’s speed and Bellamy’s dogged determination to reach his family, it’s only the afternoon when their running brings them over a rise in the land and into sight of a tall, cylindrical tower, looming over a city at the head of a river.

‘That’s the city,’ Bellamy says grimly. ‘Come on.’

They take off running again, the tower looming closer and closer with every heavy step. The city is at an angle to them, and the forest they left behind has angled its way along with them, so that the edge of the northern fringes is only a short run away. But this had been quickest route, and the smoothest.

In the very reaches of Clarke’s eyesight, she spots something coming towards them, from the direction of the city.

‘Bellamy!’ she warns, but it’s too late. They’re approaching at great speed.

There’s a woman hobbling towards them, tripping in long skirts. Long, curly auburn hair streams out behind her like a ribbon.

And chasing her, closing in with every second, is a band of horses and riders.

As she runs closer, details clear up. Gold on the woman’s fingers. A distressed, desperate expression on her face. On the horses are soldiers, in full regalia, but leading them is another woman. This one looks, calm, measured, perfectly intact although she’s been racing a horse. She wears a red dress and has shiny black hair.

Luna, for that is who this must be, spots Clarke and Bellamy. Her mouth opens up, screaming something. Clarke pumps her legs, running closer, Bellamy right beside her, yelling something back. But just as she’s only yards away, a deafening bang rings out.

Red spreads across Luna’s chest. There’s a look of shock, before she’s falling, tripping, and she tumbles into the dirt.

‘No!’ Bellamy’s voice screams, and he runs ahead of her, skidding on his knees to take Luna in his arms.

Clarke’s had medical training though. She knows where that bullet hit.

‘Clarke!’ Bellamy yells. ‘Shoot her now!’

It isn’t needed. Clarke’s already drawn the gun, lifting it carefully to aim at the woman’s heart. She only got one shot at this.

But then the woman speaks.

‘Oh!’ she cries, halting her horse pressing a manicured hand to her chest. ‘Oh, what an accident! What a horrific accident! My Luna! My precious heir, my princess! What a terrible tragedy!’

Clarke lowers her gun, and tears spring to her eyes.

‘Clarke, shoot her!’ Bellamy yells.

‘But it was an accident,’ Clarke replies, confused. The red-dressed woman is distraught, looking down at her dead heir with tears running down her cheeks.

Bellamy curses, and Clarke can hear frustration and anger in his voice. He gets up slowly, backs away from Luna’s body so he’s standing next to her.

‘You promised to do as I said, Clarke. You have to shoot her. It’s Queen Alie!’

But Clarke can’t. ‘It was an accident,’ she says. ‘A terrible accident. I can’t shoot the queen, Bellamy. She just lost her heir.’

He swears and reaches for the gun in her hand, but Clarke pulls it away.

‘Give me the gun, Clarke!’ He’s furious, but she doesn’t understand why.

‘No!’

‘Give it to me, please,’ he says, desperate, looking up at the queen who’s observing their argument from a distance with interest.

‘You’re not yourself!’ Clarke cries. ‘You can’t kill a queen!’

Queen Alie’s eyebrows raise, staring curiously at Bellamy. Something flickers in the back of Clarke’s head. Something important. But as quick as it appears, it’s gone.

‘Alright,’ Bellamy whispers. ‘Okay. We can’t shoot her. What if I asked you to do something that wouldn’t hurt anybody?’

‘I trust you,’ Clarke finds herself saying. She barely registers why.

‘Okay, on the count of three, we’re running back into the forest. And I need you to cover your ears. Will you promise to run as fast as you can and stay close to me?’

‘Yes.’

‘One,’ he breathes, eyeing off the Queen, who begins to dismount her horse. ‘Two. Three.’

They turn and bolt, and Clarke slaps her hands over her ears, like he told her to. He’s confusing her, but she wasn’t lying when she said she trusted him.

All she can hear as she runs is her own short breath, and then the bang of muffled bullets. Are they shooting at them? Instinctively, she starts zagging, and makes sure Bellamy runs ahead so she’s in the way. She can survive a bullet.

He looks wildly over his shoulder at her. _Keep going_, he mouths, and they run, run, run into the forest and keep flinging themselves over logs and bushes and shrubs. They keep fleeing.

Bellamy doesn’t stop them until ten minutes later, as they come across a small stream. He holds out a broad hand to halt her and presses a finger to his lips.

She nods, and they splash as quietly as they can through the creek. It’s smart of him, Clarke thinks, to get rid of their scent and footprints as much as possible. When they exit the creek, they try not to step onto any earth, and creep along silently. Avoiding twigs, avoiding crunchy leaves or rustling bushes. It’s totally different terrain to the other side of the mountains, but Clarke finds herself adapting quickly.

They don’t speak. She receives Bellamy’s unsaid message to not talk loud and clear, even though her head is still foggy and she’s still not entirely sure why they ran and why bullets were sent after them. Bellamy, she tries to think to him. What’s happening?

He just shakes his head. He’ll explain later, she supposes, but it’s frustrating her that she can’t work out what’s wrong.

They’re about to round a tree when Bellamy tenses suddenly, his spine freezing and his face frozen in fear. He backtracks to her and bundles her up to hide behind a large log, clapping his hands over her ears. Clarke can hardly breathe, because he looks so terrified and that makes her scared too. They stay like that for several long minutes, Bellamy mouthing something to himself silently. Clarke wonders if it’s a prayer.

Eventually he relaxes and takes his hands away from her ears, nodding. What was that, she thinks to him. He shakes head, and only whispers one word under his breath.

‘Alie.’

Bellamy must seem satisfied that whoever he’s afraid of are looking north for them because he turns them to the south and isn’t as careful about sound. Instead he hurries them up, leading the way through the undergrowth like he’s lived here his entire life.

‘It’s my Grace,’ he tells her as they stumble under some low-hanging branches. ‘It’s telling me where everything is. And if they get too close.’

‘Bellamy,’ she says. ‘Why are we running?’

He looks back at her grimly and sighs. ‘We should rest.’ He scans the woods around them and nods. ‘Come on, there’s a hollow in a tree up ahead that will fit us both. Let’s go.’

You didn’t answer my question, she thinks to him, but he just squeezes her hand. Later, she assumes it means.

The tree doesn’t look out of the ordinary, but Bellamy assures Clarke that if they climb up there’ll be a space for them to rest.

‘And no animals?’

‘I would have sensed them first. Here, I’ll give you a boost.’

She manages to climb up to the higher branches, helps him up too, and to her surprise he’s right. There’s a hollow in the tree just big enough for them both to curl up in.

They settle in. Bellamy has to wrap his arm around her to fit, but it’s not like she minds. And she wants to know why her head is so foggy.

‘Do you remember, Clarke? What we were discussing as we travelled here. About Alie. About how she’s Graced. About how you needed to listen to me.’

Tendrils come back at first, then something pops. It’s like there was some sort of barrier preventing clarity from surfacing. And she remembers.

‘Bellamy. I promised. I’m so sorry.’ Clarke swears at herself and buries her head into his shoulder. He just makes soothing noises and holds her closer.

‘It’s not your fault.’ He shakes his head. ‘If anything, it’s mine. I said I could protect you, but I didn’t.’

‘Bellamy, you saved me,’ she argues, and then it dawns on her why he looks so guilty. ‘If Alie had gotten a hold of me alive…’

He runs a hand over his face in anguish. ‘That’s what she wanted, after we ran. I don’t know how much you heard, but she wanted you alive and me wounded or dead. So she could figure out why her Grace wasn’t working on me.’

She grabs his hand that’s running through his hair and kisses it. ‘Bellamy, you did save me. She had power over me and you still got me out of there.’

‘I didn’t realise it would be so powerful. I think it must be the strongest when the words are from her. Then when the lies spread, they become weaker as more people are in the chain.’ Bellamy still looks defeated, and Clarke reaches up and kisses him properly. It’s lucky she still has such great eyesight; she can still see his face in the cramped dark hollow.

‘I’m sorry our plan didn’t work, that I didn’t kill her straight away. But we can do this, Bellamy. Together.’

He breathes out slowly, meeting her eyes. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Okay.’ He swallows. ‘Now…’

‘Luna,’ Clarke suddenly realises. ‘Luna. I’m so sorry, Bellamy, I’ve been so confused and it’s only coming back to me now. She was your family. We didn’t save her.’

Bellamy blinks rapidly and hangs his head. ‘Yeah,’ he says. He lifts up his left hand and slides Luna’s golden, wavy ring off. ‘Do you have a chain?’

‘Raven would have packed one,’ Clarke says, and rummages through their kit and finds one for him, helping him thread the ring on and fasten it around his neck.

‘We save who we can save today,’ he tells her gravely. ‘And we can still do that.’

‘What do you mean? Madi?’

‘Yeah. The last thing Luna thought to me, as she died in my…in my arms, is that she was hopeful, because I might be able to save Madi. She’s hiding in the forest.’

‘Shit, Bellamy, that’s great. Where?’

He shakes his head. ‘I only got flashes. But we have to find her before Alie or her soldiers do. That’s the other thing I got. She was so scared for her sister, Clarke. You were right about her hiding them away to protect her.’

Clarke swallows. ‘I wish I wasn’t right. I’m so sorry, Bellamy. But we’ll save her, right?’

‘Right.’ He glances at her, an ever so slight smile pulling at his mouth. ‘You with me?’

‘Until the end,’ Clarke promises. ‘Are we going?’

He bites his lip. ‘I wish there was a way to protect you more.’

‘I’m sure Raven would have packed us some earplugs.’

But Bellamy shakes his head. ‘The Queen will just shout until you can hear her, if she knows you’re there. And just one word, and you’ll be under her spell. Better that you can hear her coming, just in case.’

‘Alright.’ Clarke sighs, and then cringes as yet another awful thought comes to her. ‘Bellamy. What if she does get me. What if she turns me against you?’

‘That’s not happening,’ he says fiercely, but Clarke bites her lip.

‘Here.’ She presses the gun they brought into his hand. Then divests herself of her knives, all the potentially deadly weapons she has hidden on her person.

‘Clarke…’

‘Don’t say it’ll be fine. We can’t afford to be optimistic about this. If I have no weapons, you’ll stand a chance against me.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Princess,’ he says wryly. But he softens. ‘Thanks.’

She nods, brusque. ‘Bellamy. I’d rather be dead then be her plaything. Promise me you won’t let me hurt anyone.’

He stares at her, and she presses the point in his mind. Promise me, Bellamy. He looks very reluctant. His face tells her that he’d rather die than turn a blade on her, or gods forbid shoot her.

‘I couldn’t stand it if I hurt you, Bellamy,’ she whispers, and he sighs.

‘Yeah, I know.’ He presses his lips to hers, and it hurts in the best kind of way. What if she never gets another chance to do that?

‘We will,’ Bellamy tells her. ‘We’re still breathing, and so is Madi. We’re going to save her. Together.’

Clarke nods. ‘Together.’ And they exit the tree, ready for anything.

*

The pace is slow-going, because the soldiers have spread out by now. Bellamy leads them on a winding path, avoiding the search parties. They creep around trees and duck under bushes, and Clarke blocks her ears if Bellamy so much as breathes funny.

He knows that Madi is south of them, perhaps near a creek. But they have no idea how many there are in this forest, or how far she got. Clarke hopes it’s far enough that the soldiers won’t find her, but close enough they’ll get to her before dark. It’s freezing, this close to the mountains. And Madi’s only twelve; who knew what clothes she’d escaped in?

She and Bellamy hold hands. While she can speak in his head, it’s easier if she doesn’t distract him from keeping track of everything else. And they can squeeze their hands back and forth. One for freeze, I’ve spotted something. Two for all clear. Three for run for your life.

They go back to back as much as possible, too. ‘Eyes sharp,’ Bellamy whispers every so often. ‘Just in case my Grace lets us down.

It’ll work, Bellamy, she allows herself to think. But it doesn’t stop him worrying. He mutters under his breath at every stream they cross.

‘Not this one. Come one. Luna wanted me to find you, Madi.’

‘Do you know what she’s hiding in or behind?’ Clarke asks when he tells her they’re currently far enough away from anyone.

He frowns. ‘Some sort of burrow, or hollow in the ground. I saw branches and leaves covering the entrance, and I think I’d know it if I saw it.’ He twists the ring on his left little finger. ‘Hopefully I still know her well enough that I can sense her when we get close.’

It takes a few hours, to travel like they are. Silently. Carefully. At one point, about an hour before dusk, Bellamy yanks her down to him and slaps his hands over her ears. Just before, she hears shouts.

If she hears the soldiers telling any sort of lie about her being safe, they could be done for. Clarke presses her own hands over Bellamy’s and doesn’t let herself access her good hearing. A tune, she thinks desperately. Play something.

An old lullaby fills Clarke’s mind. It’s one she thinks her mother must have sung to her, when she was young. She didn’t even know she remembered it. But it seems to work. Clarke hums it as loud as she can in her head, trying to drown everything else out.

A few minutes later, Bellamy releases her ears. ‘Alright, I think we’re good.’

But just then, a shout rings out through the forest. ‘We won’t hurt you!’ comes a loud, male voice. ‘We just want to talk!’

Bellamy whirls to her. Clarke frowns at him. ‘Why are we hiding, if they don’t want to hurt us?’

‘Clarke come here. Remember. Remember the lies, remember Alie. Remember Luna, and Madi, and me. Come on, you can keep it out.’

Fog is swirling around her head again, and she shakes, confused. Bellamy wraps his arms around her and breathes slowly. The rhythm of his breath. He knows it calms her.

It takes a lot of yelling at herself in her head, but eventually Clarke’s sure the bubble has popped. ‘Okay,’ she breathes. ‘I think it’s gone.’

Bellamy nods. ‘Come on. They went that way. Let’s circle them.’

It gets to half an hour before sunset, and Clarke’s worried. Bellamy thinks they’re in the right general area, but there doesn’t seem to be any trace of the missing girl.

Until Clarke spots a hair, tangled on a hanging branch. She beckons Bellamy over. It’s long and dark. He nods. ‘It has to be hers.’

‘Let’s hope she didn’t leave any others.’

They cross another stream, head uphill following it for a few minutes, and Bellamy freezes.

‘There,’ he points. It looks like any other shrub or bush debris, but when Clarke squints, she can see how the branches have been arranged artificially.

Bellamy strides forward, crouches near the hollow. Clarke follows him.

‘Madi,’ he half whispers, half calls. ‘Madi, are you okay? We’re friends, here to help you. We know about Queen Alie, that she’s evil and that she’s Graced.’

There’s no response, and he grimaces at Clarke. ‘You try.’

‘Me? You know her.’

He shrugs. ‘She has a knife and thinks I might be tricking her.’

Shaking her head, Clarke crawls closer to the hole. She still can’t see a trace of Madi, but she trusts that Bellamy can sense her.

‘Madi? My name is Clarke Griffin. You might know me better as Wanheda. With me is Bellamy, your uncle. We promise we don’t want to hurt you. Bellamy loves you very much, we want to help you escape Queen Alie.’

‘I have a knife!’ A voice hisses back. ‘I have a knife, and I’m not afraid of you!’

Clarke glances at Bellamy.

‘That’s good,’ Clarke tells her. ‘Do you know how to use it? I could teach you.’

There’s a pause. ‘My sister taught me a couple of things,’ comes the hesitant reply. ‘She said I should do it how my Aunt Octavia does it. Slash, don’t stab.’

Bellamy smiles. ‘O’s mantra,’ he murmurs.

‘Your aunt is a smart woman,’ Clarke says. ‘Do you remember much about her? Bellamy here is her brother. Do you remember him? He really wants to help you.’

‘Where’s Luna?’

Clarke stiffens and looks at Bellamy. Do they tell a twelve-year-old that the queen killed her sister?

Bellamy purses his lips, but nods. The truth, his eyes say.

‘Madi,’ Clarke says. ‘Madi, I’m so sorry. But Alie…’

‘Alie killed her, didn’t she?’

Clarke swallows. ‘Yes.’

There’s another pause, and Madi’s next reply sounds slightly watery. Clarke’s heart twangs. ‘Can you really teach me how to use the knife properly?’

‘We can. We’re both Graced, and we’re both very good fighters. I’ll teach you everything I can.’

After a moment, Bellamy lets out a tense breath beside her. ‘Thank you. She’s climbing out. Which is good,’ he glances over his shoulder, worried. ‘Because they’re heading this way.’

Madi’s small, pale face appears in the hollow, and Clarke doesn’t let herself react to the tears she can see dried on the girl’s cheeks, the tattered hair and clothes.

Clarke reaches down and helps Madi climb out, which is difficult, because she’s shivering uncontrollably. Her eyes are unfocused, and Clarke’s astounded that the girl was still able to speak.

‘She’s frozen stiff.’ Clarke shucks her own jacket and wraps it around the girl’s shoulders. ‘Quick, give me yours too.’

‘We need to go,’ Bellamy argues, but he’s already tearing off his cloak.

‘She’ll die if we don’t get her warm,’ Clarke says, remembering something her mother used to say. She knows that if they don’t get Madi to some fire, things won’t turn out well.

‘We’ll all die if we don’t leave now,’ Bellamy shoots back, and as soon as the cloak is settled around Madi, he grabs both of their hands, pulling them away.

It’s difficult to stumble through a creek quickly and quietly when you have a traumatised, frozen twelve-year-old in tow. Bellamy looks more and more agitated, glancing behind him, and eventually picks Madi up and hoists her onto his shoulder.

That makes them marginally quicker, but Clarke can see from Bellamy’s grim face that they won’t have long. The soldiers are going to catch them. She could kill each and every one right now, if she wasn’t so afraid that they could lie to her. And then Bellamy and Madi would be in more danger than before.

‘We have to kill them before you hear them,’ Bellamy mutters. ‘It’s the only way.’

They stumble further on until Bellamy stops them and lets Madi down to rest against a wide tree.

‘You ready, Princess?’

She takes back her knives from him but leaves the gun. Too loud, right?

Bellamy nods and looks at Madi. ‘Stay here, don’t make a sound. We’ll be back. But if you don’t hear a bird whistle before you hear footsteps, run. Got it?’

‘Hold onto that knife. If they do come, remember to slash.’

Madi nods, wide-eyed, and they turn away from her, heading back towards the soldiers. Clarke doesn’t like leaving her, but there isn’t a better option.

‘Alright,’ Bellamy whispers. ‘Lucky for us, there aren’t any roving scouts. They’re relatively clumped together. If you take some of the back ones out, I’ll take some at the front, and then we knife anyone left over. Good?’

Good. Bellamy’s chosen the perfect place to ambush them, a clearing with some high ground, and a perfect path to sneak around them. She prays that they don’t call out in the meantime.

They’re lucky. With a _thwip_, Bellamy’s first knife plunges into the neck of the leader. Clarke jumps on the one at the back of the pack and dispatches her with a crick of the neck. Two down, the rest to go.

She and Bellamy end up fighting back to back, flinging knives and kicking the soldiers away before they can get close. Luckily, they’d been too surprised to think of calling out, and they’re too busy fighting off Bellamy and Clarke to think to shout.

Bellamy’s Grace helps. She silently tells him to duck as she throws a knife over his head, and he grins as he catches the next guard’s attack with a hand, without looking.

Clarke can’t help but think they’re the best fighting duo in all the kingdoms.

But the thrill wears off once they’re done, collecting the knives from the flesh of the fallen. Clarke feels sick. These were once innocent men. And they’d had their minds taken from them.

Bellamy comes over and grips her arm. ‘Who we are, and who we need to be to survive…’

…are very different things, Clarke finishes for him, in his head. But somehow it rings false, when these deaths were very much on purpose. Clarke wipes the blood off her knives, gritting her teeth. She hopes that one day, she won’t need her Grace like this.

‘Here, let’s take two horses. They’ll come in handy.’ Bellamy approaches one and to her relief it doesn’t seem alarmed at a stranger. They send the rest off into the forest. Hopefully it would confuse any other groups tracking them.

They walk silently back to Madi, Bellamy letting out a bird whistle as they approach. She sits up as they reach her, eyes flickering between them.

‘You killed them all?’ Her voice is remarkably neutral.

Clarke shifts uncomfortably. ‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ Madi says, to her surprise. ‘Where are we going?’

‘We need a place to recoup, now that dark has fallen,’ Bellamy says.

‘You need to kill Alie,’ Madi shoots back, and Bellamy freezes for a second, but nods.

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘But we have to be smart about it. Gotta use our heads.’

Madi eyes them suspiciously, but nods. He glances at Clarke.

‘Ready when you are.’

They trek further south-west through the forest, closer to the mountains. Eventually they come across a high ridge, with a lake at the bottom. There’s a clear path up the side of the cliff, and it will be easy to guard and easy to see people coming.

‘There’s a cave up there,’ Bellamy points. ‘Let’s go.’

They head up the slippery track, guiding the horses carefully. Bellamy’s right, there is a cave, and well-situated to watch the valley below, while still staying out of sight.

The cave also guards from the wind that’s fairly strong on top of the ridge. Clarke bundles Madi inside and works quickly to start a fire. As soon as she does, Madi shuffles closer to it, hypnotised by the warmth.

‘She’ll be hungry,’ Bellamy says.

‘I bet there are some critters up here,’ Clarke tells him. ‘I’ll go grab some.’

‘Be careful,’ he warns, but doesn’t stop her. He settles down next to Madi, pulling out the meagre rations they have left. Clarke knows that meat will be better, so she makes quick work of surprising some mountain-nesting birds.

When she gets back, Madi is fast asleep, head in Bellamy’s lap.

Dad of the year, she thinks to him, and he rolls his eyes at her as she sits down next to him and plucks the birds as quickly as she can. The girl needed some sustenance badly.

‘What now?’

‘We kill Alie,’ Bellamy says. ‘It’s the only thing we can do.’

‘We don’t even know where she is.’

‘I know,’ Bellamy says heavily. ‘But I’ll find her. We can’t do anything else. And Madi’s the heir to Polaris now, technically.’

‘I guess she is. I wonder why she decided to trust us.’

Madi stirs and opens her eyes; they widen when she spots the food in Clarke’s hand.

‘Come on,’ Clarke invites. ‘It’s all yours.’

The girl scrambles over Bellamy’s lap to sit between them, and once Clarke has deemed the bird cooked, she tears into it.

‘How long has it been since you ate, Madi?’ Bellamy asks gently. She shrugs.

‘Yesterday morning? Before we escaped.’ She licks her lips. ‘Some berries last night, but they weren’t filling.’

The poor kid. Clarke wonders what would have happened if they’d been any later. Bellamy makes eye contact with her over Madi’s head and shakes his head. It wasn’t worth worrying over.

‘I heard you talking,’ Madi says, mouth full. Clarke thinks she probably has had etiquette lessons, as a Princess, but they’re all out the window now. ‘I trusted you ‘cause you told me the truth. The soldiers or Alie would never have told me that Luna was killed.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Clarke says. ‘I wish it were different.’

Madi just continues eating. ‘I knew it was likely,’ she says quietly. Clarke can’t help but wrap her arm around the girl, and to her relief, Madi leans into it. Bellamy raises his eyebrows. She likes you, they say.

Clarke doesn’t mind.

‘Once you’re feeling better, I can teach you how to use the knife,’ she tells her. Madi fishes it out of her skirts.

‘What do we practice on?’

‘Bellamy’s a good test dummy,’ Clarke teases, and he rolls his eyes.

‘A knife would be a nice change from your fists, Princess.’ But he smiles.

Madi looks up at her. ‘Are you better than him?’

‘Yes,’ Bellamy answers, and Clarke scowls at him.

‘But Bellamy’s stronger than me. He’s very good, too.’

He pokes her in the cheek. ‘Don’t listen to Clarke, Madi. She’s the best.’

Madi seems happy to watch them bicker, and Clarke gives her another leg to eat. She’s earned it.

Clarke turns her attention to Bellamy, frowning. It’s you that’s going to have to kill Alie, she thinks to him, anxious. So don’t underestimate your skills.

She doesn’t have to communicate how afraid she is for him. She’s sure he already knows.

You’ll have to be quick, she thinks. Shoot her and then leave as fast as possible. You can’t stick around, or her soldiers will hunt you. You’ll have to ambush her. You can’t let her get within reach.

Bellamy reaches behind Madi and grabs her hand, squeezing it. It’s some semblance of comfort, at least. Clarke just doesn’t want to lose him.

Madi finishes up, licking the remains from her fingers. Clarke hates the thought of interrogating a child, but there wasn’t much else they could do.

‘So Madi,’ she says. ‘Queen Alie. We’ve figured most of it out. That she’s Graced at lying or something similar, and now she’s after you. But…’ Clarke glances at Bellamy. ‘What we don’t know is why.’

‘My blood,’ Madi says, and of all the replies Clarke had been expecting, she has to say, that hadn’t been one of them.

‘Your blood?’ Bellamy questions.

Madi nods. ‘Black blood. Like the rulers have.’

Now that Clarke thinks about it, she guesses it’s true. Her family, bar her, have it. Lexa has it. It wouldn’t be so out of scope to guess that Diyoza or the Azgeda royal family have it too. She looks at Bellamy again, but he looks as lost as she feels.

‘I’m not sure we understand,’ Clarke says slowly.

‘Luna said that why she got picked to be heir,’ Madi explains. ‘Alie found out that we were some of the only non-royals to be born with black blood, or nightblood as she calls it. It’s very rare.’

‘But what’s so special about it?’

Madi sighs, resting her chin on her knees. ‘Do you know the story?’

Bellamy frowns. ‘The story of how she became Queen?’

She nods.

‘He told it to me just recently,’ Clarke says. ‘But there was nothing about black blood.’

‘Do you remember her sister, Becca? Well, it turns out that she had nightblood. And she was a scientist. She found out that it helped against Graces.’

Yet another unexpected element. ‘Graces?’

Madi sits up again, and begins to twirl her knife between her fingers, unable to look at either of them. ‘Luna said it was like a resistance. Not like…not immediate. But it helps, after a bit, to reduce the effects. Becca became resistant to her sister.’

‘And resistant to her lies,’ Bellamy breathes. Madi nods.

‘Before she died, Becca donated blood to the other royals, to protect them. So that they could keep their families and kingdoms safe.’

Bellamy frowns. ‘But not all of them? My brother, Wells is the true heir to Arcadia, yet he doesn’t have black blood.’

It dawns on Clarke. ‘You said Arcadia honours Gracelings,’ she tells Bellamy. ‘Judging from my impression of Wells, I bet the Jahas are honourable, right? They wouldn’t need to protect themselves from Gracelings, if they trusted them.’

‘That sounds right,’ Madi pipes up.

‘But how does it work?’ Bellamy asks. ‘This black blood thing? How can you become resistant to a Grace?’

She shrugs. ‘I don’t know, this is just what I know from what my sister told me. Luna said it was like….if a Graceling is really good at singing, then after a while it won’t sound as good to people with black blood. Same with food, if someone’s Graced with cooking. It’ll still be good, just not, Graceling good.

‘So it might be easier,’ Clarke says. ‘To fight a Graceling fighter?’

‘Or be resistant to mindreaders?’ Bellamy adds.

Madi sighs. ‘Yeah. Luna didn’t know Alie was Graced when we left for Polaris. It was only after a few years she started becoming suspicious. And even then, she didn’t share her hunch with me until I was older. But I was becoming resistant, too. Lies the Queen told just started sounding faker.’ She bites her lip. ‘We think she has a way of changing her eye colour. Up close to her,’ she shivers. ‘They look fake. Her eyes look blue, but I don’t think it’s natural.’

‘Brown,’ Bellamy says. ‘I think. Dark brown, or black.’

Clarke gives him a look and nudges Madi. ‘So Luna started suspecting her?’

‘Yeah. She stopped Alie from seeing me as much as she could. But it was hard. She still got confused. But then…’ she swallows, and Clarke tightens her hug. Madi leans into it. She’s probably feeling so alone right now, Clarke thinks. ‘Alie started trying to experiment on me. Like she does with everyone.’

Clarke goes to interrupt but Madi plows on. ‘I sprained my ankle in the courtyard, and she took away the pain.’

The puzzle pieces slowly start to fit together for Clarke. ‘But it didn’t get better, did it?’

Madi shakes her head. ‘Alie thinks if no one’s in pain, then everything will get better. But it’s not true! My ankle was still messed up. And Luna saw that it wasn’t getting better. It was still swollen, and I wasn’t walking right. That’s when…that’s when Alie’s Grace stopped working on her.’

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair. ‘So she gets people to believe lies about their pain. Tells them it doesn’t hurt. I bet she didn’t like it when Luna broke free of her.’

Madi nods miserably, and Bellamy’s breath hitches. ‘Wells. It was a threat, wasn’t it?’

‘She thought if she hurt Wells, Luna might do as she said. We thought she was lying about it, at first. But then Luna got your letters, that he’d gone missing. That’s when Luna barricaded us in our room. There were so many guards that we couldn’t escape easily, but at least she could fight off one at a time if they did break in.’

Clarke swallows. ‘I still don’t understand, though. Weren’t you the opposite of what Alie wanted, with your blood?’

But Bellamy grits his teeth. ‘Think about it, Clarke. Alie wanted to reform Polaris with her own twisted, sick ideas. Her idea of paradise. She couldn’t take away the other royals’ blood, not without a full-scale invasion. But royals stay where they are. Luna and Madi…you guys were a threat.’

Madi bites at one of her fingernails. ‘Luna never said, but I think…I think Alie wanted to keep it in the family. Brainwash us before we could get used to her. Before we could see through her lies. Get us to believe in her despite her Grace.’

‘Delusional,’ Clarke shakes her head. ‘Even without black blood, I bet any prolonged exposure probably makes you resistant over time.’

Madi shrugs. ‘I don’t know. But when Alie realised her plan wasn’t working on us, she wanted to know exactly how we resisted. She was a scientist too.’

That sends a chill down Clarke’s spine.

‘She wanted to know why black blood was so special?’

‘And since I’m still a kid,’ Madi agrees, ‘she thinks I’m a good candidate for her experiments. The only one now,’ she adds quietly.

‘She really does want your blood,’ Bellamy marvels.

Madi curls up, voice small. ‘Yeah. She left us alone, for a little while, when we hid. But she got impatient. She wanted to experiment. Luna said we had to leave. That was yesterday.’

Bellamy swallows. Clarke can read it in his face. If only they were quicker. She places a hand on his shoulder, repeats back to him what he’d communicated to her earlier. They couldn’t dwell on it.

‘We escaped,’ Madi continues. Her voice is slightly hoarse now, from all her talking, and probably from the cold, too. ‘We tied sheets together and went out the window. And then we ran across the fields. But Luna…she tripped and broke her ankle.’ She lifts a hand and begins to wipe at her eyes with the back of her wrist. ‘She told me to run, go on without her. So I did.’

‘Madi,’ whispers Clarke. ‘It’s not your fault. You had to escape. If you didn’t run, Luna would still be dead, and you’d be captured.’

The girl nods. Clarke knows they can’t dwell on it, like she just told Bellamy, but it’s hard hearing how close his family was to safety.

Bellamy rests a hand on her shoulder. Of course he was comforting her, when it was his family, his turn to be distraught.

‘If only I had a gun,’ Madi says suddenly. ‘I’d shoot her. For killing my sister. I’d shoot her a thousand times.’ It’s said with such conviction, for such a small girl.

‘We’ll do that for you,’ Clarke assures her. ‘You don’t have to face her ever again.’

‘I’ll kill her, Madi,’ Bellamy promises. ‘For what she did to you, to our family.’

She blinks up at them. ‘You? Why not Clarke, if she’s better at fighting?’

Bellamy smiles grimly. ‘Alie’s Grace doesn’t work on me,’ he says. ‘If Clarke went near her, we’d be in too much trouble. Whatever happens, we can’t let Alie control Clarke. She’s too dangerous.’

Madi considers this. ‘Do you have black blood?’

‘No, but I have a clear mind. I promise, Madi. The only thing standing between Alie and me is her guard.’

She doesn’t look satisfied, but she’s already yawning. ‘I can tell you how to get close to her. I know what guard she has.’

‘You’re brave,’ Clarke tells her, but Madi just shrugs.

‘I have to be.’ She yawns again, eyes drooping. ‘I wish I could go with you. I wish I was Graced, like you guys.’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘Well I wish I had your resistance. I hate that she messes with my mind.’

Madi nods, leaning back on her. ‘I don’t like it either,’ she murmurs, and she drops off to sleep. Clarke runs a hand softly through the girl’s hair. She hadn’t expected to feel so protective of her, so quickly. Is this what parenting’s like?

‘Now you know how I feel about Octavia,’ Bellamy smiles.

‘It’s not even close,’ Clarke counters. ‘Octavia’s your sister; you’ve known her forever.’

Bellamy just shrugs. ‘We don’t control who we feel protective over.’ He leans over and brushes a hair out of Clarke’s eyes. ‘Come on. Eat something and then come and sleep. I doubt she’ll even stir.’

‘Yeah. She’s had a rough time,’ Clarke sighs, looking down at the sleeping girl.

‘We’re going to help her,’ Bellamy promises, and Clarke leans a head on his shoulder, her favourite position.

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow.’

*

At dawn, they plan.

Clarke hates that they have to send Bellamy alone, but it’s the only choice.

‘An oxymoron, you know,’ he nudges her. She elbows him back.

‘I wish you wouldn’t deflect with humour,’ she tells him. I wish you weren’t going at all, she thinks. He just rubs her shoulder.

‘Alright, so I’ll take the knives and go on horseback part of the way.’

‘And the gun,’ Clarke tells him. ‘It’ll kill her quicker.’

Bellamy sighs. ‘It’s loud, but you’re right. Madi? What can you tell me about the guard?’

Madi runs through what she knows of the guard Alie keeps around her. Most of them will be Graced.

‘The one with the red beard has excellent hearing. He’ll know if you’re coming. If you see him, he’s definitely heard you.’ She draws circles in the dirt. ‘There will be an inner circle of shooters, and then other fighters circling around. You’ll have to avoid all of them, if you want to get close enough.’

They hash over the plan several times before Clarke’s satisfied that it’s as safe as they can get it. She knows Bellamy’s just itching to go and get it over with, but she’s determined to have him back in one piece.

‘Here,’ he says, while she’s filling their packs. She and Madi have to be ready to run if Bellamy doesn’t make it back by sunset. She’s dreading it. She doesn’t want to leave without him. But they have Madi to think about. They can’t let that monster near Alie ever again.

‘What?’

He’s holding out a ring. His ring.

‘Bellamy, what?’

‘Clarke, if I don’t come back, you’ll have to run. The safest place is Arcadia. Go to my estate. This will get you passage on any Arcadian ship.’

Clarke’s horrified. ‘I’m not selling your ring!’

‘Not selling it, Princess.’ He puts it in her palm and wraps her fingers over it. ‘They’ll recognise it’s mine. They’ll do as you ask. Keep it safe.’

She bites her lip. ‘I’ll put it on a chain,’ she tells him. If he dies, there’s no way she’s letting the ring out of her possession. His eyes soften and he kisses her on the forehead.

‘Brave Princess,’ he murmurs, and then wraps her in a hug.

‘I think I’m going to go back to sleep,’ announces Madi. It’s tactful for a twelve-year-old. She gives Bellamy her good luck and goodbyes and curls up underneath the cloak, near the fire.

Clarke takes the opportunity to hug Bellamy tighter. ‘You’d better come back to me,’ she tells him. ‘Promise.’

He doesn’t, but he does kiss her, deep and firm, like he wants to remember it. She tugs him for another one, because she wants to remember it too.

‘I love you,’ he murmurs, and wipes away the tears that have started welling at Clarke’s eyes.

‘You know what another oxymoron is?’

‘What?’

‘You and dying,’ she says. ‘You’re gonna come back to me alive, okay?’

He smiles sadly. ‘Okay, Princess.’

‘I mean it. I love you. Please just…be careful. And hurry.’

He nods. Gives her another kiss, and then he turns, mounting the horse, and waves.

Clarke watches as he canters away, and hopes, prays to whatever gods are watching, that she’ll see him again. This can’t be the last time she lays her eyes on Bellamy Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight cliffhanger! Will Bellamy come back safely? Or will Clarke have to flee with Madi? Guess you'll have to find out in chapter 3. 
> 
> i'm always around on [twitter](http://twitter.com/biakebell) and [tumblr](http://millipop.tumblr.com) if you want to yell at me to hurry up.


	3. up high in vertigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Madi await Bellamy's return from his mission to kill Queen Alie. When things go wrong, Clarke has only one thing up her sleeve - survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is there a stronger word than sorry? I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long. Things just got in the way - life, writer's block, fear, mental health, etc. But I'm back!  
But I do apologise again, because this chapter is no longer the final one. It was turning out to be a monster, and this felt like the right place to split it. But I promise the next one is the last!  
Because this fic is so long with such monster chapters, and I know how hard it is to remember what's happened/find time to reread, I've included a small recap at the start so you can refresh your memory a little. Reading the last scene of chapter 2 won't go amiss either.  
Thanks for being so patient, and thanks for the comments and encouragement! They definitely kept the fic at the back of my mind.  
I hope you enjoy.

PREVIOUSLY

_Princess Clarke of Sanctum is a Graceling, blessed (cursed) with the skill of killing. For five years she’s worked for her aunt and uncle, Queen Simone and King Russell, as little more than a thug and attack dog. In her free time, she runs a secret organisation, Eden, helping the common people of all the kingdoms against tyrannical and irresponsible rulers._

_In an Eden mission to rescue Prince Wells of Arcadia, Clarke meets a mysterious Graceling who (almost) matches her ability to fight. She later finds out he’s Wells’ stepbrother, Prince Bellamy, and the two become fast friends and fighting partners, with both determined to find who is really behind his brother’s kidnapping. But things become complicated when Bellamy’s Grace is revealed to not be fighting, but a form of perception that allows him to partially read thoughts, a skill that Clarke has feared and reviled after an incident five years prior with her dead cousin Josephine._

_But after he helps her to escape the control of her aunt and uncle, Clarke still sets off with Bellamy to find the truth and begins to trust him again on the way. Trust, patience, and a little chemistry leads to declarations of love from both #dorks, and Clarke and Bellamy enjoy a small period of happiness, with Clarke discovering her true Grace is survival. _

_However they soon reach the kingdom of Polaris, where Queen Alie, having brainwashed an entire kingdom with her Grace of lying, is hunting Bellamy’s young relative Princess Madi for nefarious purposes. After a close call with Alie, they find Madi and vow to protect her the only way they can – by killing the Queen. But while Clarke is the best fighter, she’s susceptible to Alie’s lies, and Bellamy’s Grace allows him to resist it. _

_After bidding them farewell, Bellamy sets off to complete an impossible task, leaving Clarke and Madi to await his return…_

Time inches by slowly, so sluggish that it’s all Clarke can do not to run out after Bellamy, beg him to come back, tell him they’ll find another way. One that won’t risk his life.

But deep down she knows that this is their only option. The more time they leave Queen Alie to spread her lies, the harder defeating her will become. She’s already had so many years to poison Polaris. And if she got her hands on Madi…

Clarke shakes the thoughts from her head. It’s useless to dwell. She sighs, watching as Madi breathes in and out, sleeping away the morning. She won’t wake her. Either Bellamy will come back victorious, and they’ll have a long trip to the city to fix all that Alie had broken, or they’d be running. Madi needed all the strength and rest she could get.

The sun rises higher and higher in the sky, casting a brilliant glow over the valley. Clarke longs to paint the reflection she can see in the lake below them. From the cave on top of the ridge, it’s easy to see everything spread before her, a picture-perfect painting. But most importantly, she can see everything that approaches. Clarke’s fingers itch to go hunt, to do something with her hands, but she knows that her place is here. Watching over Madi and waiting.

Madi wakes an hour before midday, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She nibbles on some jerky before sliding down to sit next to Clarke, leaning into her side. Clarke puts her arm around the small girl. The sun may be shining overhead, but it’s still cold, especially in the cave. Despite wearing Clarke’s jacket, Madi still shivers.

‘How’d you sleep?’

‘Better,’ Madi admits. ‘But as soon as I woke up, I got worried again.’ She chews her lip. ‘Do you think Bellamy is alright? Do you think he’ll be able to do it?’

Clarke sighs. ‘I hope so. If anyone can, it’s him. But I won’t lie to you. It’ll be a miracle if he pulls it off.’

‘But you have faith, right?’

Clarke smiles, rubbing Madi’s back while her eyes dance over the trees in the distance, eager to detect any sign of movement. ‘Of course. I’ll always have faith in him.’

They sit for a while, staring out into the forest, watching for any disturbance. Eventually, Madi murmurs something about packing her things up, and Clarke lets her go. At least one of them is being responsible. Clarke can’t bring herself to cease her watch.

A while later Madi approaches again, soft footfalls on the stone ground. Luna must have taught her how to be quiet; Clarke’s heart aches with regret thinking of how close they’d been to saving her.

‘Um, Clarke?’

‘Mmm?’

She’s holding the knife, the one she’d gripped with all her strength hiding down in the hollow. It’s not huge, Clarke will admit. Several inches long, with a small grip and a longer blade. But it looks sharp, and Madi’s small. She could do some damage, especially to an opponent not expecting it.

‘Will you teach me how to use it?’

Clarke’s hates to not be watching the trees, but it would have been an easy victory for Bellamy to be back this early. It was still only early afternoon, and who knew how long it would take Bellamy to find the Queen amongst the forest?

‘Sure,’ Clarke decides, and stands up. ‘Come here.’

She teaches Madi stances first, making sure the girl knew how to position her feet steady and secure. Attacking was useless if she was off-balance. But the girl picks it up quickly and soon Clarke is adjusting her grip on the handle, showing her how to stab, how to slash, where to aim for the most hurt and pain.

‘It would be easier if I had a model to demonstrate on,’ she says, and Madi giggles. It’s a nice sound to hear, from the child who’d been shivering with fright less than a day ago.

‘Like Bellamy?’

‘Yes, like Bellamy,’ Clarke grins, and demonstrates how to flick the blade up for a quick but painful slice.

Madi’s a natural. It’s not surprising, given all Clarke knows about her family. It’s still odd though, watching the small-statured girl fling and stab into the air, a tiny assassin in the making.

‘Next lesson, I’ll teach you some techniques for fighting without a knife.’

Madi looks up eagerly. ‘Like punching and kicking and stuff?’

‘Yes, just like that.’ She glances out the cave entrance. It’s getting on in the afternoon now, and still no sign of Bellamy. It’s three hours until sunset, Clarke’s Grace tells her. ‘But for now, let’s pack up, and then keep watch again. Just in case.’

Madi gives her a look, like she knows exactly why Clarke’s so paranoid. But she doesn’t complain, and ably assists Clarke in grooming the horse, packing the remainder of their supplies, and making sure there’s minimal trace of them left in the cave.

They sit down at the entrance again, and Clarke counts. One hundred and fifty minutes until sunset. One hundred and forty. Thirty. Two hours to go.

It’s agonising. As each moment ticks on, Clarke’s heart beats that little bit faster. If he didn’t come back, she’d have to abandon him completely.

It’s unthinkable.

An hour before sunset, and there’s still nothing. Clarke stands, pacing. They would probably need to leave soon. What if they’d captured and tortured him? Bellamy was loyal, but who knew what powers Alie could be hiding? What if Bellamy’s Grace didn’t protect him as much as they thought?

At forty-five minutes before sunset, there’s a rustling in the trees in the valley below. Clarke strains her eyes, trying to will them to see through the thick canopy. But it’s not until she hears the footfalls that Clarke’s heartrate slows, relaxing. It’s him. She’d know his footsteps anywhere.

But something’s wrong. They’re off. Not quite in the right rhythm. He’s limping. And if he’s walking, where is his horse?

Bellamy emerges from the trees. Clarke has to stop herself from gasping with relief. He’s alive. But her instincts were right, too. Even from on top of the ridge, she can see his coat is soaked in blood, and he’s dragging his right leg behind him.

Fuck. She can’t call out though, in case someone hears. Bellamy skirts the lake and makes his way to the bottom of the cliff path, beginning the punishing climb up the slippery trail.

‘Madi, you got this?’ Clarke hands the reins of the horse they have ready to the girl, who’s nodding, wide eyed.

‘I got it, Clarke. Go help him!’

Clarke rushes out, carefully beginning her own descent down the trail. It’s never felt more dangerous. The lake waits below, reflecting the sky above them, and it makes the potential fall seem bottomless. But Clarke can see Bellamy getting closer and closer. He’s alright, she tells herself, to stop her hands shaking. He’s here, and he’s alive.

Bellamy pulls closer and closer, but just as he’s only a few yards away from her, and she can see the pain on his face, the wound soaking blood through the thigh on his injured leg, his other foot catches on a wayward stone.

It happens in slow motion. Bellamy sways to steady himself from tripping, perilously tipping towards the edge. He doesn’t fall, though. He shifts his weight back to the path, sending a tired grin up to Clarke.

That’s when the earth beneath him crumbles away.

It’s just a few stones, at first, but then the path disintegrates entirely, and Bellamy doesn’t even have time to grab onto the edge. Clarke screams, skidding to a stop at the now broken path, and watches as he falls. Of course, it’s not a straight descent down into the water. There’s an outcrop below them that Bellamy hurtles into, and Clarke hears the sickening thud of his head on the rock before he tumbles into the water, disappearing under the white splashing.

Clarke doesn’t even think. The distance is nothing she can’t survive. She dives in after him, flinching as she breaks the hard surface of the water. It’s freezing. But she saw how hard Bellamy hit his head. It’ll be a miracle if he’s conscious, so she doesn’t have much time.

The water isn’t clear, and she’s unsure if the murkiness swirling around her is dirt or blood. Probably both. It doesn’t make her feel better.

She pumps her arms, swimming down, down, searching for any sign of Bellamy. Finally, she sees his outline, sinking slowly towards the lake bed. Clarke crawls through the water towards him, willing it to let her through, to get to him. When she’s a few strokes away she can see his eyes are closed.

Clarke finally gets near enough to grab him around his torso, and kicks her legs, following the bubbles of her breath up, back to the surface. It’s a good thing that the water lessens his weight a bit, or Clarke would struggle with her limited strength. But she’s a survivor, she reminds herself. And she’ll extend her Grace to him right now. She won’t let him die.

She takes in gasping breaths once they’ve breached the surface, but Bellamy remains still, head lolling onto her shoulder. Dragging him towards the shore, she’s surprised to see Madi waiting, wringing her hands on the bank. She must have found a way down.

Clarke hauls Bellamy up to the muddy ground at the lakeside, crawling up beside him. She barely notices her body smarting from the smack the water gave her as she dived in; she has no time to rest.

‘Bellamy? Bellamy!’ She rolls him onto his side, remembering the few things her mother taught her so long ago. Opening his mouth, positioning him so the water from his lungs flows out. It does, to her relief, and he coughs, spluttering. He’s alive. But his eyes don’t open, and when he’s back onto his back, Clarke holds her hands to his cheeks.

‘Come on. Wake up. I need you, Bellamy. Come on.’

The next few seconds feel like years, but Bellamy’s eyelids flicker.

‘Princess?’

His eyes open blearily, and don’t seem to focus on her. But he’s awake, and Clarke bursts into tears. She’s hovering above him, and the tears drip from her cheeks onto his face.

‘Thank the gods,’ she chokes, and he blinks rapidly.

‘You’re making me more damp,’ he murmurs, and Clarke gasps a laugh. Trust Bellamy’s bad humour to come out right now, of all times.

‘I thought you were…’ She doesn’t finish. She can’t.

Bellamy lifts a hand to her cheek, which is a good sign. He can move his limbs. ‘It’s okay, Princess. I’m here.’

She can’t form words for a second, but luckily Madi isn’t as useless as her. She crouches down next to them and worriedly peers at Bellamy.

‘What about Alie?’

He’s silent for a second, taking in large, rasping breaths. Clarke’s breath comes back to her, but only for a moment, because his quiet seems heavy. ‘Is she dead?’

The brief smile from his bad joke has disappeared, melting off his face. ‘No,’ he croaks, closing his eyes. ‘No, she’s not dead.’

There’s a moment of devastation as the implications settle into Clarke’s stomach. Not dead. Still alive. Probably coming after them.

‘Okay,’ she manages. She has to turn her emotions off. Think. The next steps. How do they survive? How do they escape? ‘Okay, we have to go then.’

‘Clarke,’ Bellamy mutters. His hand grabs her wrist. But she’s concerned, because although his body is moving fine, his eyes are still unfocused, and he seems woozy. He hit his head hard, and Clarke can’t help but worry he’s getting more than just a bruise. ‘Clarke, they were following me. I only just got away, but they’re coming. We have to…we have to…’

‘Okay,’ she says, squeezing his hand. She makes her tone as soothing as possible. It’s obvious he’s still in shock, agitated and panicked. ‘Let’s get you up and moving.’

Thank the gods for Madi. Somehow, she’s brought the horse with all their supplies down with her, which is good because now that Bellamy’s mount is gone, they’ll only have it to carry them and everything else.

Madi helps her sit Bellamy up, and eventually onto his feet. But he’s unsteady, dizzy, like he’s unsure of where the earth is underneath him. Clarke leads him towards the horse, and he leans on her heavily. He’d have to ride it for sure. The best way, she calculates, is to have everyone on the horse except her. Madi wasn’t injured, but there was no way she could be as fast alongside the horse. Clarke would travel beside them and take a couple of packs off the horse for herself to carry to ease its load.

She manages to get Bellamy to lean on the horse’s neck and helps Madi up into the saddle.

‘Alright, can you help me? We have to get him up, and you’re going to have to steady him. Otherwise he’ll fall off.’

Madi nods seriously, and after a few tries, they haul Bellamy up onto the horse. He lies in front of Madi, arms clasped around the horse’s neck.

‘You okay?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ Bellamy says, but his pale face tells her that the strenuous movement can’t have been good for him. It’s the best plan they’ve got, though, and Clarke swings some of the packs onto her back. Then she takes the reins, leading the horse away, along the bottom of the ridge and further into the forest.

But she’s unsure where to go. South, definitely. They’d have to travel for days, maybe even weeks down to the coast. Hopefully they can get a ship and pray the forest will hide them until then. Somehow, she’s not optimistic.

‘Head south-west,’ murmurs Bellamy. She looks at him in surprise, but he isn’t looking at her, just frowning into space. ‘The soldiers are coming from the straight north, and directly south or east is the main road.’

Clarke has no idea how they’ll explain his eerie knowledge to Madi, and she thinks this to him, while following his instructions anyway.

‘’S fine,’ he mumbles. ‘Eyes sharp.’

It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes. Like she wouldn’t be keeping her eyes out for people who could kill them. She does as he says, leading them into thicker forest, towards the mountains. She tries to pick up the pace as much as she can, but it’s clear that the more the horse jogs Bellamy up and down, the more pain he’s in. He throws up a few times, luckily off the horse and not onto himself or Madi. It’s hard to know what’s more essential: running away or stopping to treat him, letting him rest. Whatever injury he’s sustained is serious.

And it wasn’t just his head. Clarke remembers the wound in his leg too.

‘Not as bad as it looks, Princess,’ Bellamy slurs. No one had been talking, and Madi frowns behind him as she grips his shoulders, making sure he’s not slipping to one side or the other.

You really need to stop revealing your Grace, Clarke scolds him silently. Madi is getting suspicious.

Bellamy shakes his head, and winces. ‘No time. They’re gaining on us. Go more west.’

Madi seems to understand that neither of them will explain to her what’s happening, or maybe she just thinks they have an uncanny ability to communicate, because she just helps Clarke manoeuvre them again without commenting, and they head off in the direction he’d said. Bellamy begins to groan, wincing at each bump of the horse.

They keep going through the night, figuring that the search parties will have to rest. Bellamy murmurs that they’re getting distance, which eases her worry a little. But Clarke’s heart breaks at every expression of pain that passes over his face.

Finally, near sunrise, they come across a small cabin, built into the side of a rocky cliff. Clarke can hear a stream somewhere in the vicinity, and it makes her decision immediately.

She halts the reins. ‘Come on, we’re stopping here.’

Bellamy protests. ‘No, we need to keep moving!’ He shakes his head, but it’s a bad idea. Clarke can see the nausea rise up, the flash of pain contorting his mouth.

‘We can’t keep going Bellamy, you’re too hurt.’

‘No, I…’ He doesn’t finish his sentence. Even with Madi still gripping his shoulders, he pitches off the horse, sliding onto the ground.

Clarke swears. Madi slips off the horse herself, landing daintily on the ground. She rushes over and wipes her hand over his brow. ‘He’s out cold.’

With delicacy, Madi and Clarke manage to drag him into the cabin. It’s abandoned, but there’s a cot in the corner that they lie him down on. He murmurs something unintelligible under his breath but doesn’t open his eyes.

‘Fuck,’ Clarke allows herself to say. Madi doesn’t seem phased though, just looks up at Clarke with worried eyes.

‘I’ll go get our stuff. There’s a fireplace here. We should probably get warm while we can. I’ll go see if I can find some firewood.’

Maybe Madi has a survival Grace too, a hidden one. She was being a champion. Clarke just nods shakily. ‘Be careful. Scream if you need me, alright?’ She would keep a trained ear out for anything untoward too.

As soon as Madi exits the cabin, Clarke falls to her knees, face inches away from Bellamy. She wipes hair away from his forehead and allows herself to panic, just for a second. She knows a little healing, but nowhere near enough to help him. She isn’t qualified for this. What if he dies from this? What if she has to watch him fade away right here in front of her?

Bellamy inches open his eyes, groaning. Clarke shoots up, scrabbling for her water pouch, but he knocks it away with a hand. ‘You’re scaring me, Princess.’

‘You can’t talk,’ Clarke retorts. ‘Come on, you need water. Please.’

He acquiesces, sipping a little bit. But not nearly enough.

‘Princess,’ he rasps, and Clarke grips his hand. ‘Princess, we have to take Madi and go.’

Immediately, she shakes her head. ‘No. No, if we move you, you’ll die.’

‘We can’t stay here. They’ll come by and kill me and take you and Madi. I can’t let that happen. I have to protect you, both of you.’ He presses his eyelids together, obviously in pain.

The solution comes to Clarke clearly, although she’s careful to shield it from him, at first. He won’t be happy about it.

‘Happy about what? My head might be killing me, but you’re right here, Princess. I can sense your thoughts.’

‘You said it yourself,’ Clarke says. ‘She wants you dead. What if we make her think you’re with us? She doesn’t know exactly how injured you are. Only about your leg, I’m guessing.’

Bellamy frowns, eyes boring into hers. ‘Say what you mean to say.’

‘You can hide,’ Clarke says in a rush.

‘Hide? Hide where? No. No, we need each other. We do this _together_.’

Clarke shakes her head again, tears springing to her eyes. ‘If you come with us, you’ll die. And we have to go. For Madi. Bellamy…’

She’s sure that the pain on his face is from more than just his injury. He looks like he’s about to argue, but another contortion crosses his face, and his eyes roll back into his head as he slumps back into the mattress, passed out once again.

It just makes Clarke surer of what she has to do, much as she hates it. If he’s passing out from the pain, something is terribly wrong. He absolutely cannot travel.

Clarke makes sure he’s covered with blankets and goes out to help Madi with the supplies. The girl has already tied the horse up and has an armful of firewood.

‘I figured this was more important than bringing in the supplies for now.’

‘Thank you.’ She quickly drags the packs into the cabin herself and takes the wood from Madi. ‘Could you maybe find a water source? I’m sure I heard a stream as we arrived.’

‘Of course. I feel better if I’m doing something. ’ She bites her lip. ‘Is he going to be okay?’

Clarke glances towards the cabin. ‘I don’t know. I’m still figuring out what we should do. But for now, we need rest. We’ll stay here today, probably tonight, too.’

Madi nods and heads off, grabbing a rusty looking bucket from the side of the cabin.

Clarke sighs and heads back in, making quick work with what little kindling is there. She can see Bellamy shivering in his sleep, even under the blankets, and the last thing he needs is a fever.

Once that’s done, she heads to her bag and pulls out the maps Monty packed. Clarke needs to know the exact lay of the land they’ll be hiding in. Alie’s a native of Polaris, probably knows these woods better than anyone. They have to find a way to avoid her, be smarter.

Madi comes back with a bucket full of water and fills up their waterskins. ‘Should I get some more to boil for breakfast?’

‘If you could, Madi.’ The girl just nods quickly, eyes darting to Bellamy in the corner, before scampering out. Clarke turns back to her studying, fingers rubbing at her temple. It isn’t looking good for them. There are few, if any, ways out of the section of forest they’re in. Especially if they have to bring along an injured Bellamy, if he even survived the travel.

She’s still poring over the maps when Bellamy stirs in the corner, opening his eyes and immediately fixing them on her, albeit blinking several times.

‘There has to be a way,’ he says quietly. ‘Where we don’t have to go so fast.’

Clarke swallows. ‘You don’t think they’ll catch up to us?’

Bellamy closes his eyes, raising a hand to his head and wincing. ‘I don’t know. But surely…’

She gets up and crosses the room to sit on the bed, taking his hands in her own. ‘Bellamy, I think we both know what we have to do.’

There’s a silence. Bellamy’s jaw is clenching.

‘What do you want me to say, Clarke?’

‘I want you to say you understand. That you’re with me.’

‘How can I be with you if we’re not together?’

All the roughness and anger has been stripped from his voice. It’s soft and vulnerable. Scared. Clarke wipes away the tears that have started slinking down her own cheeks, matching the ones that magnify his freckles.

‘I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t think we have a choice.’ The cot is small, but Clarke lies down next to him, takes comfort in the fact he wraps his arm around her, securing her. She tucks her head into his neck, and she can feel him shuddering with the effort, trying to keep himself steady for her.

She loves him so much it hurts. And if he comes with them, either he dies from his injuries, or he dies when Alie catches up with them.

‘Okay,’ Bellamy says, after she thinks that. She can feel the vibrations from his voice in his neck and chest. ‘I have to stay. You’re right.’

Clarke wraps her own arms around him and squeezes him. ‘You know I don’t want you to, right?’ She says it into his neck, muffled, but obviously Bellamy can still hear her. Understand her. ‘But I can’t let you risk your life again.’

‘I know,’ Bellamy says sadly. ‘No good choice, right?’

‘I hate it,’ Clarke tells him. ‘Because if you stay, they could still find you. And you’re in no fit condition to fight.’

‘Well,’ Bellamy says. ‘I have an advantage. I know when they’re coming.’ He’s silent for a second. ‘And I have a plan.’

Clarke twists in his grip. ‘A plan?’

‘Of where to hide.’

‘Where?’ He hadn’t before. He must have sensed something with his Grace.

‘I’ll show you. Help me up. And maybe something to eat first,’ he admits. ‘If I don’t hurl it up.’

Clarke rushes to get him some leftover jerky, making sure he eats a substantial amount and a good swallow of water.

‘You’re a fusspot, Princess,’ he says, eyeing her as he sips at the water pouch. She snorts.

‘Like you can talk, mother hen.’

It gets a smile from him, like she hoped. After a few minutes, he stands, wobbling a little, but ultimately staying upright. Clarke grasps his arm and hauls it over her shoulder.

‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your leg,’ she tells him. ‘I’ll dress it after this.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ They hobble him out the door, and he leads them to the right, the south. Up a slight grassy rise, where Madi is walking towards them, a bucket of water sloshing.

‘Oh hi! Are you okay, Bellamy?’

‘Could be better,’ he says wryly, but he still smiles. ‘There a river up there?’

‘Yeah, and a waterfall! It’s so cool!’

Madi perking up and acting like an actual twelve-year-old warms Clarke’s heart, and she can tell it does Bellamy’s too.

‘Alright, well I need to show Clarke something. How about you come? You can leave that here.’

Madi accompanies them as they slowly make their way to the water that Clarke had heard before. To her relief, it isn’t far. They arrive at the bank and Bellamy sits, obviously dizzy.

He beckons Madi toward him. ‘How much of Arcadian culture did Luna share with you?’

The girl brightens. ‘She taught me how to braid my hair, and about the rings, and about the rules of Arcadian fighting.’

Bellamy smiles. ‘I’m glad. What about stories?’

Madi cocks her head.

‘Did she ever tell you about the legend of Pauna?’

Clarke’s not an expert at the old tongue, but she’s pretty sure he just said ‘gorilla’.

Madi nods enthusiastically. ‘The big gorilla!’

Bellamy glances up at her, winking. ‘There’s a legend that a long time ago, the great beast Pauna ravaged the wilds of Arcadia. One day, a warrior was traversing the forests when Pauna attacked. No one had ever faced the gorilla and lived, so she had to hide. But Pauna was strong enough to knock down all the trees, so she needed somewhere else. Do you know where she hid?’

Madi’s eyes widen. ‘Behind a waterfall!’

‘That’s right.’ He squints towards the rushing water a short walk away. From what Clarke can see, the water looks deep enough to swim in, and there’s probably fish. She wonders if Bellamy can sense any.

‘You think there’s a hidden cave behind the waterfall?’ Madi exclaims.

Bellamy smiles, although a wisp of pain that crosses his face mars it. ‘I have a hunch.’

Clarke refrains from snorting but sends the feeling towards him anyway. A hunch, huh? His Grace would definitely be powerful enough to sense a hidden cave. But there was only one way to make sure.

She strips off her outer clothes, and Madi gapes. ‘You’re going to go see?’

‘Yep.’ She looks at Bellamy, asking him in her head how long they had. Would they be able to stay the night? Or would Alie and her hordes catch up to them during this day?

His expression tells her that he’s not panicked, and that he’d tell her later.

Clarke bites her lip at the water below her. Cold, surely. It won’t stop her, though. She takes a breath and dives.

It’s less murky than the lake Bellamy fell into, luckily. She pulls herself down, and swims against the current towards the hulk of rock that supports the water flowing into the river. She skirts the rock downwards, until she sees the proof of Bellamy’s ‘hunch’. A gaping opening, just beyond where the water falls heavily into the river.

She pulls herself back to the surface to breathe, waves at her spectators, and duck dives once again.

This time, she swims beyond the opening. Clarke trusts that Bellamy wouldn’t have let her go if there was no air at the end. It becomes dark, but after a few strokes, the rock above her ceases and she climbs up to the surface.

There’s barely any light. Only a tiny dot high above, where there must be a hole in the ground. She swims forwards blindly but is gratified when almost immediately the water shallows out, and there’s a gravelly cove. It’s not huge, but certainly big enough for one person to dry off, to stay while a party of dangerous soldiers searches the cabin. And most importantly, it was hidden from any sort of detection.

Clarke takes a moment to get her breath back before she dives back down again, swimming through the hole and up, back to the surface.

‘Well?’ Madi calls, impatient.

‘He’s right,’ Clarke says, swimming over and hauling herself up to the bank, sitting next to Bellamy. ‘There’s a cave. It’s small, but there’s a dry cove at the end. It’ll do in a pinch. How well can you swim?’

Bellamy gives her a look. ‘I grew up on an island.’

‘I mean with your head.’ She reaches out and brushes his cheek.

He frowns. ‘Maybe the dizziness won’t be so bad in the water.’ Letting out a sigh, he goes to get up. ‘I still don’t like it. But I know it’s the best plan.’

‘What plan?’ Madi had been caught up in the euphoria of a secret cave, she obviously hadn’t thought about why Bellamy and Clarke were looking for it.

Clarke helps Bellamy stand, and they walk slowly back to the cabin. ‘Madi,’ he says softly. ‘You guys have to go. But I can’t come with you. I’m too injured. Clarke will look after you from here.’

Madi looks afraid. ‘What about you? You’re going to stay here? Let them find you?’

‘Well,’ he says, gesturing back towards the river. ‘You just saw my emergency plan. Live in the cabin until someone comes, and then I can go hide.’

‘But—’

‘No one will expect me to be hiding in plain sight. Clarke and I discussed it. It’s the best way for all of us to survive.’

Clarke swallows. She suggested the plan, but she hates it anyway. So many things could go wrong. What if they surprised him? What if he was too injured to make it to the cave?

Bellamy lays a hand on her shoulder, warm. She knows it means to calm her, tell her to relax. It’s hard, even with his help.

They return to the warmth of the cabin, and Clarke dries off before she quickly goes and catches a rabbit that Bellamy whispers to her is hiding in undergrowth.

When she gets back, Madi looks dead tired, so Clarke sets her up in the cot, and her and Bellamy collapse back into the rickety table and chairs that furnish the cabin. He’s still wincing in pain.

‘Come on,’ she says. She grabs his leg and rests it on her lap, scooting closer. ‘I have to look at this.’

He groans, but Clarke’s just relieved there’s no sign of infection, when she rips the fabric open. He’d been right after all; it wasn’t as bad as it looked. A bullet graze. Painful, but not deadly or crippling, once he got movement back.

‘We’re okay for now,’ he says suddenly, as she’s wrapping a bandage around his thigh. She glances up at him, eyebrow cocked.

‘What you asked me at the river. We’re okay if we take today, sleep tonight. We have good distance, and they won’t be here for a few days, I’d reckon. They didn’t follow us west.’

Clarke smiles tightly. ‘That’s good.’

‘As it can be.’ He pinches the space between his eyes, frowning again.

‘Here, take some medicine for the pain,’ she says, rummaging through the bags for Monty’s stash.

Once the herbs are in his hand, Bellamy swallows it dry. ‘I think I need another nap.’

‘How bad is it, really? I saw your head crack the cliff, Bellamy. I _heard _it. Don’t pretend it’s not bad.’

Bellamy sighs, eyes closing again. ‘It did a number on me. My brain feels like it’s been stirred around with a wooden spoon. I’m dizzy even when I’m sitting.’ He finishes the sentence with a hesitation, and Clarke can tell he’s hiding something. But she doesn’t push, because she can see the tiredness in his eyes.

He gets up, but only to rest himself against the cabin wall, refusing to turf Madi out of the bed, and soon passes out. Just a few hours, Clarke promises herself. It was still morning, after all.

She knocks around the cabin, stoking the fire and deciding which things from their supplies she needs to leave him. He probably won’t be able to hunt. Clarke deliberates over some rope, and an idea comes to her.

She slips out and heads up towards the river, squinting at the water. Yes, she’s sure there are fish swimming about in the current. Using some reeds from the bank, and the rope, she fashions what turns out to be a pretty decent trap, if she says so herself. There. If Bellamy can drag himself to the river, he’ll have something to eat.

When she returns with a couple of the fish to cook, both Bellamy and Madi are awake. They prepare a meal in silence, and Madi stays quiet, noticing that things are tense.

As they all sit at the table to eat, Clarke feels that strange sort of anger well up in her again. Not at Bellamy this time, but at herself. Angry that she has to make this damn decision, leaving the man she loves behind. Couldn’t she have done something different, leading up to this? Not let Bellamy go alone? Be quicker down the cliff path, catch him before he fell?

She tears at the meat moodily, ignoring when Bellamy and Madi exchange glances.

Even though it’s daytime, they’re all still tired, and it seems like the best decision is to sleep, and leave whenever they wake up, even it’s before dawn.

Madi insists on Bellamy having the bed and curls up in the corner with blankets. Clarke doesn’t fight her, because the girl needs as much sleep as possible before their journey, no matter where it is. And Bellamy needed a damn mattress.

‘I hate that you can only stay for one night,’ Bellamy tells her softly. She’s readying the cot as a proper bed, and she turns around to watch him. You know better than me that we have to go, she thinks to him. But he must sense her reluctance, because he steps forward and gathers her in his arms.

‘You know this is the smartest plan. We both hate it, but it is the only choice. You’re thinking with your head.’

But what about my heart?

He unravels himself from her, but only to pull her down with him, to the bed. Too small, she thinks, but he ignores that and wraps her up with him. Clarke’s heartbeat slows, relaxing in his arms.

‘As much as I want you to stay, I’ll never forgive myself if I’m the reason you and Madi get caught.’

Clarke nestles into him. ‘I don’t want to leave you.’

‘You have to. I wouldn’t survive the journey. Not with my damn…’

He trails off, and Clarke sighs. ‘You realise we’ve switched sides of our argument since this morning? You’re getting better, you know. Maybe you could come with us.’

‘I look like it, but I’m not,’ Bellamy whispers. ‘The ground still feels like the sea. I’m refraining from vomiting, but only just. I want to come, but I can’t. I want you to stay, but three people is way more conspicuous than one.’

A hand lets go of her to rub his hand over his eyes. He’s still so tired. Clarke snuggles further in. ‘Come on, you need sleep. Maybe the morning won’t come, and we can stay like this forever.’

He chuckles softly, and Clarke etches the sound into her memory.

*

Clarke wakes a few hours before dawn. Bellamy is still sleeping, and Madi still snores in the corner.

She slips out again, hunts for as much game as she can. If they cook it now, both Bellamy and she and Madi will have backup supplies.

The other two wake with the sun, and Madi yawns as she helps Clarke pack the horse. Bellamy watches morosely from where he sits on the bed.

Clarke delays as much as she can. But eventually Bellamy struggles to his feet and herds them both outside, bending down to whisper in her ear.

‘They’re coming.’

She stiffens. ‘How close?’

He sways. ‘My range has spread, so not immediate. But too close for comfort.’ He leans his head on her shoulder. ‘You have to go.’

Madi comes over to hug him, and he returns the embrace with a wince. Clarke then helps Madi get up onto the horse, before turning around. She hovers before Bellamy, still unwilling to go.

‘Be safe. Make sure you eat. Go to the hideout before they’re too close. Leave the cabin sparse, so they don’t suspect you’re there. Don’t risk your life.’

‘Same to you, Princess,’ he murmurs, and leans in to kiss her.

It lasts longer than it probably should. Clarke memorising every second, taking strength from the way he hugs her close and runs his hand through her hair that he cut himself. She’s lived her whole life without him, and now she’s terrified of being away from him.

‘Brave Princess,’ he whispers.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, Clarke.’ He lets go, fingers brushing her arms, but plants one more kiss on her forehead. He’s the one who steps backwards, wobbly. But he nods to Madi, shortly, and his eyes follow Clarke as she mounts the horse behind her charge.

They’re still slightly unfocused, those gold and brown shining lights. But they match hers one last time, and he smiles.

‘Good luck.’

Madi echoes it back, and then they’re trotting, cantering, and then galloping away. Clarke doesn’t let herself look back. She’s leaving yet another person she loves behind.

*

Clarke cries for the first hour. She’s behind Madi on the horse, circling her arms around her and holding the reins from there. She tries to be quiet, letting the tears slip down her cheeks, passing off the occasional sniff as the cold weather.

She’s sure, though, that Madi knows. But the girl doesn’t say anything, just cuddles into Clarke more firmly as a chill wind picks up.

They still don’t have many things to keep her warm, and the season will only become colder. Clarke curses at herself, because she should have kept more pelts from the hunts. Maybe she could have already saved enough to fashion into some sort of coat.

It takes most of the day, creeping along the mountain line, not going east to the main trail, but avoiding the colder climbs of the mountains. It’s a thin path to tread, and it makes Clarke nervous.

And it turns out her paranoia isn’t ill-founded. As she’s guiding the horse along through some trees, she spots something that makes her heart jolt. Cloth, caught on a tree branch. The same colour as the Polaris regalia.

Clarke hadn’t thought the search would have come this far south already. But below the red, flag-like fabric, in the mud, are clear hoofprints.

She gulps. They were surrounded. No use going back, and there’s probably an ambush going forward. And east, out of the forest, was clear farmland with nowhere to hide. She looks to her right, up at the ground that rises, rises into the distance, until it curves up into mountains that loom overhead.

‘What are we going to do?’ Madi asks. Her voice trembles, but it’s clear. She’s scared, but smart. She knows what Clarke’s hesitation at the cloth means.

‘First, we’re going to go west,’ Clarke finally says, after a long pause. ‘And then we’ll figure it out. I promise.’

They tread a few more hours west, climbing ridges, hopping off the horse at some points to lead it up without their weight. The higher they go, the colder Madi gets, and the more nervous Clarke feels. They’re probably heading away from the search parties, but where to?

Clarke makes a small fire for the night, sheltering it so it doesn’t give off too much smoke. Once Madi is settled and gnawing at her meal, she digs through her bags to bring out the maps again.

Most of them are for the north part of Polaris, with more general ones for the south. Of course, there was usually no need for detailed maps of the more southern mountains. After all, no one lived there, and the pass through to the other kingdoms was much further north.

But that was out of the question now, surely guarded. And now that she and Madi were overtaken, so too would the road to the southern ports be guarded, and their ticket out of the kingdom, to Arcadia.

Clarke draws a finger down the line of mountains, looking at them intensely. There was a sort of gap between two of the taller ones. Nothing like the trail up north, and at a much higher altitude, but a gap all the same. She bites her lip, gets out a pencil, and draws a line through it. It’s fairly straight.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ Madi leans over to watch.

Clarke sighs. ‘A long time ago, my father gave me geography lessons.’ She glances at Madi. ‘What about you? Did you have many lessons living in the castle?’

Madi nods. ‘Luna made sure I got time with the scholars. I wasn’t bad at geography,’ she offers, timid.

Clarke pushes the map further into the firelight, so Madi can see it. ‘Does this look familiar to you at all? It’s surely named something, but not on the maps I have. You might recognise it, if you’ve done Polaris geography.’

Madi chews her lip, eyes tracing over the mountains. And then they widen, and she looks up at Clarke, grimacing.

‘I think that’s Sheidheda’s Pass.’

‘Sheidheda?’ It sounded familiar. A long-ago king, perhaps.

‘The commander of darkness,’ Madi whispers, and suddenly Clarke remembers. He was a long-ago king. But an evil one, according to legend. One who inflicted misery upon his subjects and was by all accounts half mad.

‘These are the glass mountains,’ Madi points to the high peaks on either side of Clarke’s line. ‘Nobody has ever crossed between them, not even him. He tried it, from the other way. They said it drove him insane.’

That’s right. He’d been a conquering king. Had invaded the surrounding kingdoms before attempting to cross the mountains and take another one, the northern pass too well guarded by the opposing side. It’s an odd parallel to now, Clarke thinks.

‘I think it’s our only way out,’ she murmurs, and Madi gasps.

‘What? That’s crazy!’

Clarke shrugs, although she’s much more hesitant about her plan than she lets onto Madi.

‘How bad can it be? Worse than Alie?’

Madi blinks rapidly. ‘Glass storms. Wild, savage animals. Ghosts. They say it’s cursed! That after Sheidheda tried, he promised no one would be able to complete what he failed.’ It sounds like she’s reciting from a book, or maybe a story told to her.

Clarke’s never put much faith in myths and legends. It wasn’t until Bellamy that she’d liked them at all.

Madi’s finished her food, so Clarke draws her in closer, rubbing more warmth into her, even though they’re next to the fire.

‘Madi,’ she says seriously. ‘My Grace isn’t just fighting. It’s more than that. It’s survival.’ She hugs the small girl close to her, trying to believe each word she says. ‘We will get through this. I’ll get us through this. And we won’t just survive. We’ll thrive.’

There’s a long silence, and Clarke’s afraid that Madi thinks she’s insane. That she’ll have better luck running back to the clutches of the Queen. But then a quiet voice whispers, barely audible.

‘I hope you’re right.’

Clarke presses her lips together, grim. ‘I have to be.’

*

They set off in the morning as prepared as they can be. According to Clarke’s map, they’re about a week’s journey from the start of the pass. They have to travel further west, and a little bit further south. And much higher than they are now. When they pass between the mountains, they’ll be higher than the northern trail’s tallest point by a significant amount.

Clarke hunts down every piece of game she can, not just for food, but for warmth for Madi. She’s not the best tailor, but after a few nights of toiling away with a thick needle and thread, Madi has a thick fur blanket covering her most of the time, and to Clarke’s relief, she’s stopped shivering.

Higher and higher they climb. Eventually, they have to leave the horse behind. At first, Clarke’s unsure what to do with it. Kill it and eat it? It’s much too big for them to carry though, and Clarke has a feeling that Madi won’t take kindly to having to consume an animal that she’d named ‘Star’, for a pattern on its back.

She figures if they cover their own tracks well enough, the horse might lead any followers they have away, and Madi hugs its neck before Clarke sends it trotting off into the much thinner forest. She hopes it finds someone to look after it.

They’re still slow, after that. Madi’s not an experienced climber. Not that Clarke is, but her Grace seems to kick in easily every time they come across a new cliff to ascend. She’s grateful that it allows her to pick the easiest possible path up even the most impossible looking obstacles.

The hardest thing is the thinning air. Madi looks out of breath constantly, and there’s a couple of times that Clarke chooses to haul the girl up with the rope rather than coax her up a steep rock-face.

Climbing, climbing, climbing. It seems insurmountable. The two peaks they’re aiming for are visible, glimmering in the distance. But they never seem to grow closer, much to Clarke’s chagrin. But she knows that eventually they’ll get there. They have to.

‘How much longer?’ Madi seems to ask this every night, looking more and more tired, slipping into her bedroll sooner and sooner after they stop.

‘I don’t know.’ After they get to the pass, Clarke has no real clue how long it will take for them to parse it. ‘But we’ll get through this, Madi. If we’re still breathing, we can survive.’

Repeating Bellamy’s words make her heart ache. She’s been trying not to think about him too much, stuck in that cabin all alone. Hurt. Defeated. She has to be strong for Madi and crying over Bellamy isn’t going to help.

On the ninth day after leaving Bellamy, they climb up a barren ridge and are faced with what almost looks like a field. Except it’s blinding white instead of green, and either side of it are massive cliffs. Not cliffs. The sides of mountains.

Looking up to the peaks, it’s hard not to squint. The sun bounces off the glass and snow, glaring into their eyes.

‘Madi, I think we’re at Sheidheda’s Pass.’

The girl nods, looking slightly sick. ‘I don’t know whether to be relieved or even more afraid,’ she admits.

‘I think I’m a bit of both,’ Clarke says, and to her satisfaction, it does coax a weak smile. ‘Come on. This snow looks nice, but it’s going to be hard to walk through. There’s probably rock underneath, so be careful not to slip, and don’t worry about going too fast. If anyone follows us in here, they don’t have my Grace. I’d bet on us over them any day. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

It’s slower going than even Clarke had thought. The snow makes everything look flat and shiny, but underneath there’s numerous hazards. Juts of rock, crevices to get lost down with just one wrong step. Clarke breaks off a large branch from one of the only trees left she can see hanging off an outcrop and uses it to test the depth of snow in front of them. Slow and steady, she thinks, and they’ll survive.

They’re reaching the end of the day, with only minimal shivering from Madi, which Clarke takes as a good sign, when clouds appear on the horizon.

‘Clarke, what’s that?’

The mountains on either side aren’t just tall. They’re wide, stretching across the entire range and Clarke can’t see the end of them from where they are. The pass must go for a long while. And there’s something about the clouds appearing, the way they’re glimmering, shining, almost, that gives her a bad feeling.

‘Did you say something about glass storms?’

Madi pales. ‘It comes from the tips of the mountains. Shards break off in the wind, and come together, and form massive…’

‘Yeah,’ Clarke says sharply. ‘I get the picture.’ The clouds are approaching much faster than a usual storm. She looks to the left and right, but it just confirms what she already knows. She’s sure that further ahead there will be caves and shelter, but not yet. Right now, the cliffs on either side of them are smooth and flat.

‘Clarke…’

‘Madi, it’s going to be okay.’ She casts around for a solution, anything, and finds it in a small jut of rock, just ahead of them to the right. ‘There, come on.’

She half drags Madi to the rock, the snow thick. There’s no time to test it for hazards. ‘Okay, dig.’

Madi seems to understand, and they thrust their hands into the snow. Clarke had lent her gloves to Madi and taken Bellamy’s before they left, and she’s glad for that, because otherwise she’d be bringing this child to safety with no fingers.

The storm approaches swiftly, and eventually Clarke knows there’s no time left. They’ve dug a small hole, and she hope’s it’ll be enough.

She and Madi lie down in it, behind the now slightly wider rock. It’s some form of shelter, although she’s sure it won’t be everything.

‘Okay, I know you’re cold, but we need to put the blankets on top of us.’

Madi doesn’t protest, just nods, and they pile underneath the pelts and packs, anything to shield them. The winds of the storm have reached them now, whistling past them at wild speeds. Any second, there’ll be glass.

‘Whatever you do, don’t let your skin come out. Okay, Madi?’

‘Okay.’

Clarke senses, rather than sees or hears, the first bits of glass fly overhead. It’s just the beginning. Soon the whistling grows louder, and she can even hear the sound of clinking glass.

Madi grabs at her hand, underneath the pelts. Clarke grasps it back, squeezes. She won’t let go, as long as she needs her.

_Fling. _At first it feels like they’re being pelted with tiny rocks, or weird, sharp hail. Clarke can feel the furs are being torn, sliced. She prays they’ll hold up enough to not get through to their skin.

Now that the first winds have come and gone, it’s a full-blown storm, and the more glass, the less air around it. Although there’s still whistling, there isn’t the howling or thunder or belting sound of water on hard surface like a normal storm. After all, the glass must be hitting snow.

So it’s strangely silent, and a special sort of agony, because it feels like they’re just waiting for something worse to come.

‘Clarke, can you tell a story?’

She’s weirdly grateful to Madi for the muffled request, because they both need to be distracted. She only wishes Bellamy were here, because he’d be much better at this than her. She doesn’t even know many stories.

But thinking of Bellamy reminds her of their first kiss, and she launches into a much more poorly told version of Bellamy’s story about monsters, about the woman who fell in love, the woman who found strength. Clarke hopes that there’s some sort of message, some sort of hope, that Madi can find in her words.

It’s not perfect, but it keeps them awake. Clarke finds herself embellishing bits where she can, just so she can keep talking. Madi just listens, and Clarke only knows the girl is still awake because her breath is short, and still freezes up at every particularly heavy rain of glass upon them.

But finally, after some hours of lying there in the cold snow, avoiding being sliced up, the rain of shards ceases. Like the start, a few stray pieces fall at the end, but after ten minutes of feeling nothing, Clarke finally feels safe enough to poke her head out.

The snow around them is glittering. It’s the morning again, and the sun shines off the glass-ridden snow and reflects into her eyes. It’s beautiful. Deadly, but beautiful.

Madi uncovers herself too, and they both stumble to their feet, looking around them. Their pelts are fairly shredded, and Clarke knows that some of the glass got through – she can feel the cuts on her back. That must mean Madi is hurt too, so she grabs her charge’s hand, and they set off once more, trudging through the now fairly crunchy snow. At least Luna had had the good sense to make Madi wear a pair of sturdy boots before they escaped.

Thankfully, it’s not too long before they find a cave. Clarke doesn’t see any trace of animal tracks, and probably couldn’t care less if there were, and they soon throw themselves down to the floor exhausted.

‘We got through it,’ Madi says eventually, amazed.

Clarke smiles. ‘We got through it.’

Before she lets them fall asleep, Clarke brings up a fire and makes Madi show the skin that’s been cut.

‘No use me dragging you through Sheidheda’s Pass only for you to die of infection.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Madi rolls her eyes, reminding her of Bellamy. Clarke’s just glad there’s still some humour left in her. Madi insists that she clean Clarke’s cuts too, copying Clarke’s movements and applying the plasters with careful, delicate hands.

‘So you and Bellamy,’ she says as she’s wiping at a deeper slice on Clarke’s shoulder.

‘What about us?’ She winces as Madi presses a little too hard.

‘Sorry. I just never thought to ask. Are you married?’

Clarke huffs a laugh. ‘No.’

‘But you liiike each other,’ Madi grins, drawing out the vowel.

‘I think that’s pretty obvious,’ Clarke says dryly, and Madi applies another plaster. It’s the last one, and she tugs her clothes back on, turning back to the girl.

‘Well duh,’ Madi says. ‘So why aren’t you married?’

Clarke shrugs, smiling as she lays out their bedrolls. They both need to sleep after the night they’ve had. ‘We love each other, and that’s enough for us,’ she tells her.

Madi screws up her face. ‘Yuck,’ she says. ‘That was way more cheesy that I thought it would be.’

‘Yeah, okay brat,’ Clarke shakes her head, laughing. ‘Adults are allowed to be cheesy sometimes. Now go to sleep, I’ll wake us up in the afternoon, okay?’

‘Fine,’ Madi says grudgingly, but only moments after lying down, she’s asleep. Clarke sweeps some hair back from her face before lying down herself and gazing at the cave ceiling. Madi’s a good kid. As much as this journey’s been difficult, Clarke knows there aren’t many kids who could handle it like Madi has.

She only wishes, for the thousandth time, that Bellamy was here with her. She can feel the cool metal of the ring he’d given her against her chest. Close to her heart. She hadn’t given it back to him, because she still needs it, for an Arcadian ship. If they get through the pass, that is. But Clarke feels better knowing a piece of him is near her. She closes her eyes and goes to sleep dreaming of him with her, his warmth burning bright beside her instead of the fire.

*

Clarke wakes them up in the afternoon, like she promised. They eat some dinner, but they’re already running low on meat.

‘I’m going to see if there’s anything out there.’

Madi looks at her, worried. ‘There could be anything out there, Clarke. Wild beasts…’

‘I hope there are,’ Clarke tells her. ‘They’re dinner.’

As the sun is still up, Clarke finds herself squinting as she ventures out into the bright snow. The glass covering on it makes it even brighter still. She squints up to the right. If there were caves on this side, maybe there were also trails, places where animals hid out the storm.

She climbs up the side, finding a nice, wide ledge, and more importantly, tracks. Clearly pressed into the littering of glass shards. Not quite as clear as a paw print in snow, but near enough. She follows them around, stepping as quietly as she can. Not easy, with glass crunching under her shoes. But eventually she sees it, a small cat-like animal, white with grey spots, hunching over some dinner it had obviously just caught itself.

Excellent, she thinks, leaning forward to take a knife from her boot.

Until claws sink into her shoulders, and she falls to the ground, yelping. On top of her is another of the creatures, slightly different looking, yet definitely same species.

‘I guess you’re its mate,’ she huffs out, before avoiding a swipe to her neck. She reaches up to wrestle it off her, and soon they’re scrabbling around in the glass, Clarke lamenting even as she’s fighting that Madi’s going to have to clean out more cuts.

As they roll around, Clarke has to avoid its sharp claws and its nasty looking bite, and soon she realises that she has to be careful, or the darn thing will roll her off the ledge. It’s a fall into snow, but it’s a fall she’d rather not be doing on accident, unprepared, with an animal on top of her.

She reaches for the knife in her boot, and the animal takes the opportunity to swipe at her uncovered neck. Clarke heaves it away, and in a second, she’s on her feet, blade aimed at the beast, with it crawling towards her like it wants to pounce.

A sound turns both their heads. It’s the other animal, yowling at them with a high pitch, baring its teeth. Clarke watches it warily. She can probably take out one of them, but not two at once.

But the feeding one doesn’t stalk closer to join its mate, just stares daggers at her. It rises to its feet, backing slightly away from its meal, and Clarke sees all of it.

Its belly is heavy, sagging almost. With a glance between the animals, she realises what’s happening. The one that attacked her is protecting its mate and whatever cubs are growing inside.

Clarke bites her lip. Could she do this? Could she actually kill an animal when she can see what’s at stake in front of her? Or kill the only thing protecting them from certain death? While the cat-like beasts have sharp claws and teeth, they’re small.

There probably aren’t many of them left. It’s not like Clarke’s ever seen one before. Not even in books. And up here, there can’t be that much food. Not to mention the storms. And wasn’t she sick of being Wanheda, bringing death and misery to all she came across?

She lowers the knife, straightens her back. Backs slowly away, hands raising up. She’s not sure why she does that, when it’s a human gesture of surrender. But the intelligent way these animals blink at her, waiting for her to move, is so human-like that she can’t help it.

To her relief, the one in front of her backs away too. And once it’s a good run away, it bounds over to its mate, and starts licking her face, nuzzling up into the neck and sniffing at her pregnant belly.

Well, Clarke thinks to herself. Food will just have to wait.

She manages to climb down from the ledge with a little less grace than she’d had climbing up it. Clarke should feel defeated, she knows, not getting any food. But she would have felt worse, if she’d killed one. In a strange way, they’d reminded her of Bellamy and her. Deadly, lonesome creatures who’d found each other. Protected each other.

It was so stupid, to cry over two animals. To cry over leaving Bellamy behind, even now. But she can’t help it, and she stands in the snow, crying like a loon, letting the tears freeze on her face, before she cleans herself up and heads back inside.

*

After sleeping again, Madi and her set off in the morning. They had enough food for that night, at least. Clarke just hopes they come across some other animals that don’t guilt trip her. Maybe Madi was right, about Sheidheda’s Pass. It was just getting stranger.

They walk for two days before another glass storm, but this time there’s a cave to hide in, and to Clarke’s delight, some animals hiding there. But maybe she’ll become a vegetarian after this, she thinks, because it doesn’t make her as happy as it used to, getting them food.

Yet they need it, running low on supplies as they are. And after dinner and a brief sleep, they set off after the storm, crunching through the newly glassed snow. Madi’s flagging again, and Clarke suspects that the lack of end on the horizon is getting to her. She tugs the girl into her as they walk, trusty branch still feeling their way forward.

‘Remember,’ she says to Madi. ‘We’re still breathing. We will get to the end.’

There’s no cave to sleep in that night, to Clarke’s dismay. She guesses that they’re just about in the middle of pass. The huge mountains loom above them, like two all-seeing monsters watching them.

Clarke holes them up against the rock face, covering Madi with the furs. She needs it more. Even Clarke can feel the chill getting to her, up here. She hides from Madi the way her hands shake, the way she can feel goosebumps on every surface of her skin. But she’s a survivor. She’d get through this no matter what.

Madi wouldn’t. Not without her.

It’s the eeriest night of them all. Out here, even with her skill, there’s nowhere to put a fire. So it’s dark, and every noise could be a beast out for a hunt, a storm brewing on top of them.

Clarke falls asleep a few hours in, Madi already breathing heavily on her shoulder. Until something shakes her awake, and she realises it’s the girl in her arms, trembling like a leaf.

‘Madi? What’s wrong? Are you too cold?’

But her teeth aren’t chattering, and she isn’t drawing the furs closer. She’s just shaking, eyes wide and breath short.

‘Madi? Madi! What is it?’

‘It’s him,’ Madi croaks, eyes unblinking, staring out into the darkness. ‘Sheidheda.’ She lifts a fur-laden arm and points out into the dark.

Clarke squints into the night, trying to make out a figure, trying to see what the girl sees. But there’s nothing.

‘Shut up!’ She suddenly screams and clamps her hands over her ears.

‘Madi?’

‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ Tears are pouring down her face, her eyes wide and afraid like they were when they first met.

‘Madi!’ Clarke hauls her back into her arms and presses her face into her neck. ‘Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You’re safe with me. I’m here. I’ll protect you. You’re safe.’

Her arms circle Clarke’s body. ‘He wants to take me,’ she sobs. ‘Like Alie. He wants my mind, he wants me.’

‘Shh,’ Clarke whispers, rubbing warmth down the girl’s back. She has no idea if this is a nightmare or real. She can’t pretend to know the truth of these mountains. Sheidheda had been feared, in his time, and those animals, the glass storms, they weren’t altogether natural. Clarke can’t be totally rational about this, not like she’s has been taught, not like she wants to be. Maybe Sheidheda’s influence did still linger, a curse on this frozen hell.

Either way, Madi had gone through some real trauma. She’d lost her sister, run from an evil queen, and been dragged through environments that weren’t habitable. She needed comfort.

‘He won’t shut up,’ Madi whimpers. ‘He keeps telling me he’s closer and closer and—’

‘I’m here,’ Clarke tells her fiercely. ‘And whatever he is, I won’t let him hurt you. My Grace is survival, and right now, that extends to you. He’s in your head?’

Madi nods into her neck, and Clarke tucks her more firmly in. What can she do, to ease the nightmare?

What had she done, last time she’d been this afraid? She remembers Bellamy’s hands over her ears, trying to squeeze any influence of Alie’s voice out. The lullaby. The one her mother sung to her all those years ago.

Clarke hums it into Madi’s ear. It’s the first time she’s ever done it out loud. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll drown out whatever demons are whispering to Madi.

It takes a few minutes. Clarke hums as much as she remembers, and keeps humming, repeating the melody. Soothing Madi, running her hand down her hair. And miraculously, Madi stops shaking.

Clarke stops for a second, and the girl tenses in her arms. ‘Keep going,’ she whispers. ‘Please.’

So she does, and she sings the lullaby as long as she can, even as she feels Madi relax in her arms. Not today, Sheidheda, Clarke thinks. This child, for as long she needed her, was hers to protect. Not today.

*

Madi doesn’t mention her nightmare in the morning, but Clarke can see it haunting her eyes. But she doesn’t want to make it worse, so she doesn’t bring it up. Just tucks the furs securely around the girl’s shoulders and leads them off into the snow again.

To Clarke’s relief, she’s pretty sure they’ve passed the halfway point. If she looks back, the peaks of the mountain are behind them.

It takes a few more days of slow trekking, of ducking into caves to avoid glass storms. Madi doesn’t get warmer, but she doesn’t get colder either. She shivers the coldest at night, but it just makes Clarke more determined to lead them out.

She even spots another of the cat-like creatures, watching them from a high cliff. But it doesn’t attack, and Clarke learnt her lesson. She leaves it well alone.

Finally, the snow begins thinning out, and they’re descending, if gradually. The high rocky walls of the mountains give way to tall ridges, and eventually trees can be spotted growing off them, and rock is underneath their feet more often than snow.

Descending feels quicker than ascending, even though Clarke’s sure it takes them just as long to find safe paths down slippery cliffs. But there’s a certain relief to knowing the hardest bit is behind them, that the danger of Sheidheda’s Pass is gone.

When they finally get to camp under the shade of some trees, finally in scrubby woods, Madi’s spirits have risen enormously.

‘We made it, Clarke. You were right! We survived Sheidheda.’

‘I told you,’ Clarke teases, but she’s just as relieved.

‘You know what,’ Madi says, chewing on the leg of a bird. ‘I know people call you Wanheda, but that’s totally wrong.’

Clarke raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

‘I know the old tongue pretty well,’ she brags. ‘And you’re not the commander of death. You’re Sonraunheda.’

Clarke frowns. ‘Commander of…?’

Madi grins. ‘Life.’

A jolt flies through Clarke’s chest, one of delight. It’s an odd feeling. She remembers her conversation with Bellamy, in these same mountains, just much further north. About her Grace being more than death.

Now Madi had named her so.

She just shakes her head though, nodding for Madi to go back to her food. ‘It wasn’t just me, Madi. I had my Grace to help, but not many young kids could go through what you just went through.’ She doesn’t mention Madi’s Sheidheda experience, but she’s sure the girl reads between the lines.

‘We make a good team,’ Madi decides, and Clarke has to smile at that.

‘I think you’re right.’

*

In the morning Clarke makes herself go hunting. They may be out of danger, but that doesn’t mean they don’t still need food. She doesn’t make herself go too far from Madi, not willing to make a fatal mistake at the final hurdle.

She’s eyeing a promising deer through the trees when the crack of a branch startles her, and she whips around to see a huge black beast staring her down, ready to leap.

A panther. She’s never seen one before, but she knew they lived in the mountains along Trigeda. Another reason why these forests were avoided.

It hasn’t moved yet, but she knows now that she’s sensed it, it’s only a matter of seconds before it attacks. She whips out her knife just as it leaps, huge claws flying towards her. It hits her in the chest, and they tumble down a small incline, grappling. But thankfully, it’s not long before the dagger Clarke’s holding out from her chest takes effect. Blood seeps from its ribs and it releases an agonising yowl.

‘Sorry,’ Clarke gasps. ‘But that really was self-defence.’

The panther goes limp and she heaves it off her, breathing heavily. She’d have to look out for more of them.

Clarke doesn’t let herself take too long of a break before she goes to collect Madi and their things. The panther is on their way down, and she wasn’t dragging it up a hill only to drag it back again.

‘Wow,’ Madi marvels, looking at the cat when they arrive back at it. ‘I guess that’s dinner.’

‘Maybe not,’ Clarke hums thoughtfully. She fishes out another of Monty’s maps and smiles, looking at it.

‘Just as I thought. We’re in Trigeda, and we’re actually near an Eden safehouse.’

Clarke quickly fashions together something to drag the panther, and she explains Eden to Madi as they trek down through the trees. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be many ridges to climb down.

‘So these people won’t hurt us?’ Madi asks anxiously, and Clarke bites her lip. The poor kid really did grow up in a place where she couldn’t trust anyone but Luna, just because of Alie.

‘We’ll be careful, and Niylah’s safehouse is quite isolated. Alie’s lies can’t have reached her yet.’

It’s nightfall by the time they finally approach the small cabin, but Clarke’s relieved to see light shining in the windows. She heaves the panther along. It’s been a burden, but she’s hoping it will make a nice gift.

She makes Madi wait in the shadows beside her and knocks carefully at the door.

It swings open after a minute, and Niylah, dirty blonde hair swept carelessly back from her face, stares at Clarke.

‘Well,’ she says. ‘You’re not who I expected.’

‘I come bearing gifts,’ Clarke offers, dragging the panther closer, and Niylah rolls her eyes.

‘Of course you did,’ she says. ‘But you didn’t need to. Come in.’

Clarke steps gingerly through the door, dragging the panther, and coaxes Madi through with her. Niylah raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t comment, just helps Clarke heave the cat up onto a bare table.

‘I’d be more impressed with this if I didn’t know you,’ she remarks, looking at the cat. ‘But I’m more surprised to see you around here. Last I heard, you’d left Sanctum with an Arcadian Prince, heading east, not south.’

‘You’re not wrong about that,’ Clarke admits, and Madi steps closer to her. ‘But before anything. Can we stay the night? We’ll be out by morning, I promise—’

‘Clarke,’ Niylah interrupts. ‘Of course. You’ve obviously been through some shit.’ She glances pointedly at Madi. ‘Get cleaned up, both of you. I’ll get us some dinner, and then you can tell me what’s going on.’

She shows them both to some backrooms with large tubs, and Clarke readies Madi a hot, steaming bath. ‘Here,’ she says. ‘Get all the grime off. I’m finding my own.’

Madi’s so enraptured with the bath that she just nods, and Clarke leaves to draw her own, sinking down into the hot water with a huge sigh of relief. It’s like heaven, after the journey she’s had. And it’s been weeks since she’s even felt hot water.

The last time had to have been in Tondisi, when Bellamy had cut her hair. She lifts a hand to run her hand through it. It’s longer again, just slightly. By the time she sees Bellamy again, he’ll have to recut it.

She stays in the bath until it goes cold, hops out and dries herself off. Niylah gave her some dry clothes to slip into, and it’s a relief not to feel grime against her skin.

Clarke goes out into the main area, and Madi’s already feasting herself on proper food. Potatoes and vegetables, things that had been scarce on the move. Niylah’s sitting too, picking at her own food, but watching Clarke as she comes to sit down.

‘So,’ she says. ‘Care to explain?’

Clarke doesn’t tell her everything, but she tells her enough. After all, she trusts Niylah, but only to a certain extent. She’s a valuable asset to Eden, and she and Clarke had a casual understanding for the small period of time that Niylah was a warrior that visited Sanctum.

She explains Polaris and Queen Alie, the danger she brings to the world. She explains how she and Bellamy had suspected her involvement in Wells’s kidnapping, how they’d journeyed to find out the truth.

She doesn’t tell Niylah that the girl stuffing her face next to them is Princess Madi, but Niylah isn’t stupid.

Her friend listens with admirable grace, and just grimaces when she hears about the danger of Alie following them, of taking them in with her lies.

‘Unfortunate,’ is all she says.

Clarke tells Niylah two lies, aside from the omissions, like Madi’s identity and Bellamy’s Grace.

Firstly, that they’d be journeying to Sanctum. Eden was centred there, after all, and it wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.

She also tells her that Bellamy had been killed. Madi barely blinks when Clarke tells Niylah this, and Clarke thanks the gods that her charge has the wherewithal to understand why she’s lying.

Clarke hates to even say the words aloud, that Bellamy’s no more, but it’s safer for him. If Alie’s people did come by and question Niylah, they wouldn’t know there was a Bellamy to look for.

When she gets to the part of the story about Sheidheda’s Pass, it’s the only time Niylah gasps.

‘Sheidheda’s Pass?’ she asks, aghast.

‘Yup,’ Madi pipes up finally, licking her fingers. ‘Clarke got us through, but _barely_. We had to go through multiple glass storms, and it was so cold, and I’m pretty sure the rumours are true about it being cursed,’ she says, matter of fact.

‘That’s,’ Niylah shakes her head. ‘Even for you, that’s a lot, Wanheda.’

‘Sonraunheda,’ Madi corrects, and Niylah raises her eyebrows.

Clarke shrugs, embarrassed. ‘I guess survival is cooler than death, these days,’ she says, and Madi grins.

Niylah promises them all the supplies they need for their journey, and Clarke thanks her, grateful.

She just shakes her head. ‘That panther is more than enough payment,’ she says. ‘And this is important. For Eden, and for all the kingdoms, as I hear it.’

She only has one spare bed, but Clarke and Madi couldn’t care less. It’s a big bed, a soft mattress with blankets, and Madi stretches out in it with a groan.

‘I love beds,’ she says, and Clarke laughs.

‘Well don’t get used to it. We’ve still got a journey ahead of us.’

‘Just one night is enough for me,’ Madi declares, and it isn’t long before the girl is nodding off, curling into the blankets with a contented face.

Clarke can’t bring herself to be as comfortable, not when there were still so many things that could go wrong.

But it is a nice bed. She tells herself to stop worrying and go to sleep. Everything else can wait until morning.

*

‘You usually have a gun with you,’ Niylah comments to her the next morning as they’re readying to leave. Clarke shrugs.

‘We left one behind on the journey to Polaris, and Bellamy…he lost it when he went after Alie.’ The lie rolls off her tongue easily. Better that she doesn’t know the gun is with Bellamy, safe and sound. A last resort.

‘Well here. You might need it, on your journey.’ Niylah presses one into her hand and Clarke gapes.

‘I thought you left weapons behind when you left…’

‘All the more reason I don’t want it. Someone traded it for supplies coming through here months ago. It’s better in your hands.’

Clarke feels slightly sick at that, but she takes it anyway. There were times, when other people were around, that knives weren’t enough.

‘Thank you, really.’

‘Anything for Eden.’ She loads them up with more supplies than Clarke thinks they deserve but refuses to take no for an answer. On Madi’s part, she’s happy to take the potatoes Niylah offers.

‘They’re my favourite, Clarke. Come on!’

Niylah waves them off after promising to keep her mouth shut about seeing them. Clarke only hopes that Alie won’t get to her and make her break it.

They go on horseback, and they’re both relieved to be off their feet. Madi’s already named this one, even when Clarke warns her not to get too attached, because they’ll have to sell it as soon as they get to the city.

The terrain is also easier going, thankfully. More familiar to Clarke, and no ridges to lead the horse up and down.

‘Hey Clarke, look. Berries. Can we stop and pick some?’

Clarke frowns and halts the horse, jumping off and examining the bush.

‘Hate to break it to you, but these aren’t edible.’

Madi pouts. ‘But they look so delicious.’

‘Poisonous ones often do.’ But an idea comes to her suddenly, remembering the headache cures she’d left with Bellamy. The ones that may or may not turn his hair purple. ‘Help me pick them.

Madi frowns at her, but obeys, and they soon have a cloth full of bright red berries.

‘What are we doing with them? Were you wrong about them being poisonous?’ Madi asks hopefully.

‘No,’ Clarke smiles, and squishes a berry between her fingers. ‘But they’re useful for something else.’ She runs her red-juiced fingers over her blonde hair, and Madi gasps.

‘A disguise!’

‘My blonde hair might become a bit conspicuous. Would you like to help me change colour?’

Madi is ecstatic, and together they paint most of Clarke’s hair red. She can cover the rest of it with a hood, but for now, it won’t be the bright gold spectacle that people associate with Wanheda.

Clarke allows Madi to add some to her own, although they can’t spare much. But she’s a softie at heart, and she loves seeing Madi grin as she twirls the dark purple strand around her finger, not as bright against her darker hair.

Compared to their trek across frosty mountains, their journey south to a port is almost easy. They disguise themselves as much as possible, dodge small villages and blend in in larger towns. But knowing they’re so close to getting away from Alie has them both happier. It won’t be for long, Clarke knows. Bellamy’s still stuck in a Polaris winter, and Arcadia may not be an easy refuge.

But for now, Clarke’s content to be in high spirits, and lets Madi enjoy not freezing to death.

They finally reach the ocean city, the very south-most port. It’s the biggest one in Trigeda, and there’ll be huge crowds at the docks in the daytime, with everyone rushing to get their produce out or in before true winter. So she slows the horse down and they amble their way into the city, keeping their heads down. The docks would have to wait till nightfall.

Clarke finds a stable at the edge of the city proper, keeping her hood up and speaking minimally. But the owner blinks at her as she’s handing the horse over, and squints.

‘Is that a silver eye?’

Shit. If the owner associated her silver with the Graceling Wanheda…

Clarke shakes her head, ducking it down so they can’t see her blue one. ‘No, just grey. Thank you for the trade.’

Luckily the owner seems to accept her answer, but Clarke knows that’s going to be a problem. There was only one thing for it.

Back at the horse, she cuts a slice of cloth off a shirt and ties it around her silver eye, trying to remember how Emori in the tavern all those months ago had done it. Wanheda never used to need to hide her eye. Now it’s essential.

They skulk around at the edge of the city, waiting for the sun to set. Clarke’s anxious – it won’t be easy, finding what they’re looking for. They need a ship heading to Arcadia, but one that hasn’t been to Polaris recently. And one that would see Bellamy’s ring as sufficient reason to take them.

As soon as dark falls, Clarke leads Madi to the docks. They walk along as surreptitiously as possible, trying to pass as two street urchins. The first lot of boats are all from Eligius, big industrial boats heading north-west. They skitter past the Polaris ships as quickly as possible. Finally, towards the end, a familiar accent catches Clarke’s ear. How had Josie put it? Like birds singing. Bellamy had a milder accent than these people, but hearing it makes her miss him all the same. Without him to tell her if they’re recognised or noticed, she’s nervous. But she assumes he’d also be recognisable too, with his own rings and accent.

The ship with voices around it is busy – men and women loading boxes from the shore up onto the deck, some shouting orders and others laughing with each other. Clarke’s no expert on sea journeys, but it seems to her that they’re packing to leave.

It’s worth a try.

There’s a girl hanging at the end of the dock, almost barring entry to where the business is happening. Clarke’s unsure if she’s muscle or a lookout – there’s a hardness in her eye, but she doesn’t look _that _menacing. But she knows better than anyone that looks can be deceiving.

Clarke grips Madi’s hand and squeezes it, then tells her to wait. She approaches, hood still up. The girl has her dark eyes on them immediately. She has short, white hair, and she frowns as Clarke reaches her. It’s dark, but there’s just enough moonlight that the girl’s hair shines.

‘Are you leaving tonight?’ Clarke asks.

The girl frowns further. ‘Yes.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m not sure that’s any of your business.’

‘I’m looking to buy passage, that’s all.’

The girl sighs. ‘Along the coast of Trigeda, west. Up to the Eligius ports, then circling back to Arcadia.’

‘Not to Polaris?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have any news of it? Polaris, I mean.’

The girl scowls. ‘If you want information on Polaris, try one of their ships.’

‘So you haven’t come from there? What do you carry on the ship?’

‘You’re very curious for a ruffian.’ Her eyes slide past Clarke and onto Madi, hovering a few feet away. ‘Ruffians. Are you spies from Azgeda or something?’

‘Not spies. We…we just want passage to Arcadia.’

The girl narrows her eyes. ‘Well we’re full up. And I have doubts you can pay.’

‘Graced with night vision?’ Clarke asks, wry.

She scoffs. ‘Your clothes. They’re ripped. You’ve probably been fighting. There’s enough light for me to see that.’

Clarke huffs. ‘Well it doesn’t matter. We can pay.’

‘You’re liars or thieves.’

‘Neither,’ Clarke insists. ‘Look, I know you can’t trust us. But here, I’ll raise my arms, you can grab my purse out of that pocket there.’

‘Fine.’ The girl slides a knife out of her sleeve, and holds it to Clarke’s throat. Madi gasps, but Clarke just shakes her head.

‘It’s fine.’

She pulls the purse out of Clarke’s pocket and steps away again, lowering the knife to inspect the bag. Too late, Clarke realises what it might look like. It was Bellamy’s money, so…

The girl looks up, fire in her eyes. ‘This is Arcadian gold! You’ve stolen from the wrong people!’

Clarke keeps her hands up and her voice steady. ‘Please. I promise it’s not stolen. Take us to your Captain and let them decide. Then you can have three pieces of it regardless of the outcome.’

‘I don’t want your stolen money,’ the girl hisses, and Clarke shakes her head. ‘I swear, it’s not. Please, just one chance.’ If the girl decided to knock them out instead, Clarke at least hopes she’ll drag them onto the ship.

The girl purses her lips, but finally nods jerkily. ‘Fine. You can plead your case to Captain Indra. But you’ll have a hard time convincing her.’

Her. That was a good sign, at least. Clarke beckons Madi to her, and they follow the girl through the cargo still being loaded and up a plank onto the ship.

‘A woman?’ Clarke asks, trying to fish more information.

‘And Graced.’

‘Graced?’

The girl gives Clarke another scathing look. ‘The Graced in Arcadia are free. Respected.’

That was true. ‘What’s her Grace?’

‘Why all the questions? You can take this offer or leave now, and without your purse.’

Clarke shuts up, and they follow her. But she’s wary, now. If this Captain’s Grace was mindreading, it could be dangerous.

‘Gaia, where you going? Who’s that?’ A voice rings out. ‘The Captain,’ Gaia replies, and they walk further along the deck. Even in harbour, the boat rocks up and down, and Madi stumbles a couple of times, unused to the moving surface. Clarke adapts to it quickly, her Grace’s influence, she supposes. She looks out at the water, roiling beneath them. It’s dark and menacing and her throat tightens up at the thought of it being the only thing underneath them for weeks.

‘A swimming Grace?’ She can’t help but ask.

The girl, Gaia, rolls her eyes. ‘More like navigational. It’s the reason we’re leaving at this time of night. She knows when storms are coming, and there’s one arriving here in the morning. If we leave now, we avoid it.’

A weather seer. That makes much more sense, and Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

They reach a square hole in the ship, where the crew is hauling crates down a precarious looking ladder. A large man seems to be shouting instructions at them, and he turns to Gaia as they approach.

He has tattoos on his face, and a menacing stare as he takes in Clarke and Madi. ‘Who’s this, Gaia?’

‘They’re going to see the captain.’

Another man grunts at them from across the trapdoor. ‘Go with them, Nyko. I’ll handle the rest of this.’

Nyko sighs and gestures them down the ladder, Gaia first. Clarke descends next, if only to help Madi down herself. Once on the floor, it’s dark and dingy.

‘It’s stuffy,’ Madi whispers to her, and Clarke’s pretty sure the girl’s face is much more pale than it was this morning. She holds her to her side as they head down a short hallway, before Gaia finally knocks on a door.

‘What is it?’ A deep, commanding voice.

‘Pardon, mother. I’ve got two…ruffians here wanting to buy passage to Arcadia. But I’m not sure of their gold.’

There’s a silence. ‘What’s wrong with it? It’s a deliberate voice, and dangerous, Clarke’s sure. If they get on the wrong side of it. Clarke steels herself.

Gaia eyes them. ‘It’s Arcadian,’ she calls. ‘And a lot of it.’

‘Bring them in.’

The Captain’s quarters are just as Clarke imagined they’d be. Maps adorn walls and small tables. Trinkets, hand-carved weapons, and all sorts of sea-faring gear she wouldn’t be able to name. Ropes and hooks hang from the ceiling, nets and bolts and even picture frames.

In the middle of all of it, sitting at an elegant yet messy desk, is the Captain. She has dark skin like her daughter, but scars adorn her face along with tattoos. An absolutely no-nonsense posture. She’s a woman of steel and leather, and Clarke would bet any amount of money she’s seen some shit in her years.

Her eyes are the most noticeable, however. One is dark brown, almost black. The other is a royal purple, the colour of a storm in the sky. Yet they’re both piercing and stern. Clarke’s sure that the Captain sees through her as easily as a mindreader, even without that particular Grace.

Gaia lays out the coins on the desk, and the Captain eyes them before looking back up.

‘Where did you get these coins?’

‘A friend,’ Clarke says. The Captain raises an eyebrow.

‘Not only is this Arcadian gold, but it’s of royal mint. Probably from the palace. I must admit I have no idea how you could get your hands on this, so I ask you again. Where did you get the coins?’

Clarke lets out a breath. Truth works, right? ‘We’re friends of Prince Bellamy. It’s his gold.’

Behind her, Nyko snorts. ‘Of course it is,’ he says sardonically.

‘It is!’ Madi pipes up, and Clarke lays a hand on her shoulder.

‘If you’ve stolen from the Prince,’ Gaia begins, outrage in her voice, but the Captain holds up a hand.

‘I am to believe the Prince gave you, two ruffians, a purse of gold?’

‘I think you know Bellamy is generous enough,’ Clarke replies, keeping her voice even. ‘But I think you also must know that we’re not ruffians, or even Trigedans.’

The Captain narrows her eyes as Clarke reaches into her collar, one hand out to placate as she fetches the ring on its thin chain.

‘He gave me this ring so you would know you can trust us.’ She loops it out over her head, but wraps the chain around her hand before dangling it in front of her.

The Captain’s eyes widen, almost comically. Gaia’s too. But Nyko gasps and withdraws a sword, lunging towards Clarke.

All she can think before she defends herself is that Bellamy could have warned her showing his ring would make people this angry. She steps in front of Madi, protecting her from the rest of the room, before blocking Nyko’s attack with one hand and one from Gaia with a firm kick.

Another man bursts through the door, no doubt on watch for a commotion, takes in the scene, and lunges at Clarke too. She hits his temple with an elbow, knocking him out, before unhilting her gun with the same hand that holds the ring, pointing it at Gaia, and a knife at Nyko.

‘Stop!’ Thunders the Captain, still staring at the ring.

‘I don’t wish to harm anyone,’ Clarke says calmly. ‘I won’t move unless they do. But I didn’t steal anything.’

‘Prince Bellamy would never give that ring to a Trigedan ruffian,’ Gaia grits out, and Clarke rolls her eyes.

‘And you do him little honour in assuming a Trigedan ruffian could have robbed him, especially of his ring.’

Gaia opens her mouth to argue but is interrupted by her mother.

‘That’s enough,’ she says. ‘Drop those weapons, Wanheda. And don’t aim a gun at my daughter again, or I’ll throw you overboard no matter the circumstances.’

Clarke lowers the gun. ‘If Nyko comes towards me, he’ll be on the floor next to your other guard.’

‘Retreat, Nyko.’

‘Yes Captain Indra.’ He obeys, thankfully. Clarke holsters the gun, sheathes the knives. Gaia glares daggers at her, and Clarke feels a stab of fury. Not at the crew, but at Bellamy.

‘Now we’re all civilised,’ Indra drawls. ‘Explain yourself. The last we heard of the Prince was that he was in Sanctum. Training with _you_.’

Clarke’s about to respond when there’s a retching sound from behind her. Madi unloads her lunch into the corner. ‘The floor is moving,’ she says shakily.

Clarke rubs her back, hauling her back up. ‘I’m sorry. You’ll get used it.’

‘When?’ Madi asks miserably.

Clarke smooths back her hair, holding the girl to her again, and raises her chin.

‘Captain Indra, this is Princess Madi of Polaris, sister to Princess Luna, formerly of Arcadia, and Bellamy’s cousin. Of sorts. And as you’ve guessed, I’m Lady Clarke Griffin of Sanctum. Formerly,’ she adds with a frown.

‘And I’m guessing there’s nothing wrong with that eye, Wanheda.’ Clarke nods, pulling the rag away, revealing her silver eye. Gaia gapes at her, Nyko’s eyebrows rise.

But Clarke ignores them. ‘Madi is in danger. I need to take her to Arcadia. To hide her from enemies out to do her harm. Bellamy…Bellamy said that you would help if I showed you this ring. But if you won’t, I’m not afraid to use my Grace to protect Madi. At all costs.’

They don’t know her Grace isn’t technically killing. But it’s not like there’s all that much difference to them. She could still take them all down in minutes.

Indra regards her coolly. ‘Let me see the ring again.’

Clarke holds it out, keeping a firm grip on the chain. As soon as this ordeal was over, it was going right back around her neck.

The Captain leans forward to examine it, before leaning back, eyes piercing Clarke’s again. ‘Where is Bellamy?’

Her resolve had been to keep his survival a secret, to keep him safe. But these people already knew enough, and she didn’t exactly know how to sail a ship. Better to have them in good graces.

‘Recovering from injury far away from here,’ she eventually says.

‘Is he dying?’

Clarke’s head shoots up, startled. ‘No. He was too injured to travel, but it wasn’t grievous. Serious, but if he dies…’ She swallows. ‘It would surely be from something else.’

Indra’s mouth retreats into a thin line. ‘If he wasn’t dying, then why did he give you his ring?’

‘I told you,’ Clarke answers, confused. ‘He gave it to me so that an Arcadian ship would help us.’

‘You misunderstand me. Why did he give you _his _ring? Why not the king’s? Or his sister’s?’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she says, frustrated. ‘He told me his one represents him. His princehood. But that’s all he said. He…he insisted I take it.’

Indra looks unimpressed, and Clarke’s at a loss. How is she to convince them?

‘Bellamy did give the ring to Clarke,’ Madi speaks up from her side, voice weak but steady. ‘He meant that one. Specifically. And if he didn’t explain what it meant, you should.’

The Captain’s eyes stare at Madi, but to the girl’s credit, she stares back confidently, despite her clinging to Clarke for steadiness.

‘It’s rare that Arcadians give away a ring. Any of their rings.’ Clarke notices the captain’s own gold-laced fingers. Fewer than Bellamy’s, but the same material. ‘It’s even rarer to give away the one that represents themselves.’

‘It means they’re forsaking their identity,’ Gaia cuts in. There’s no more hostility in her eyes, though still a decent amount of suspicion. ‘It means abdicating a princehood.’

‘I would mean,’ Indra nods her head. ‘That Clarke is now a Princess. Twicefold, I suppose. Giving you that ring gives you his estate, inheritance, and any seat he holds on an Arcadian Council.’

Clarke’s heart has stopped. She leans back against the wooden walls, her head hitting the wall with a thud. ‘No,’ she says. ‘No, that’s impossible.’

‘Like I said, Wanheda,’ the Captain continues. ‘An Arcadian gives their own ring away on the scarcest occasion. If a mother is dying and wants a sister or friend to take her place, perhaps. Or if a business owner feels strongly about bequeathing their shop. Or if a prince or princess wants to change the line of succession. In Arcadia, we take care of our own. To steal a ring like that,’ she says with a slight warning in her voice. ‘Would be a terrible crime.’

Clarke can only shake her head, confusion erupting in her heart. Bellamy hadn’t been _dying_. Injured, surely. But why would he even _consider…_

‘I don’t want it,’ she whispers. ‘He didn’t tell me…’ Why did he not explain?

There’s a tug on her arm. ‘I’m sure he had a good reason, Clarke.’

‘His injuries weren’t so bad, Madi,’ Clarke frets.

‘Clarke! Think! He gave you his ring _before_ he was injured. Before he went to…he could have died, remember? That’s not so strange, is it?’

It’s just like Bellamy to do this, Clarke thinks. Unnecessary. Sacrificing. Loyal to a fault. ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’ Her voice is breaking; her query comes out as a gasp.

‘You wouldn’t have taken it, Clarke.’

‘Of _course_ I wouldn’t have taken it,’ Clarke bursts. ‘Not in a million years. Fuck!’ She can’t even feel badly about swearing in the moment. ‘I’ll kill him. He shouldn’t have given it to me after all. Because he will die. Because I’ll kill him for doing such a thing.’ Angry tears slip out of her eyes against her will. ‘How dare he scare me like that? Not telling me what it meant for him to give me this cursed thing, I...’

She doesn’t so much sob as hiccup as she cries, staring at the ring in her hand. Madi wraps her short arms around Clarke’s shoulders, comforting her.

She gathers herself together enough to look up at Captain Indra, who’s staring at her strangely. ‘It’s not permanent, is it? I can give it back, right?’

Her words come out wild, and even Gaia and Nyko are looking sympathetic. She sees in their eyes they believe her now, which is a relief. But she’s more concerned about the ring.

‘Yes, Lady Princess,’ Indra finally answers her. ‘You can give it back.’ Clarke barely registers that she’s no longer calling her Wanheda.

‘I’m only a Lady now,’ Clarke tells her distractedly. She looks back down at Bellamy’s ring, remembering her hands gliding over it as he told her about them. ‘My uncle and aunt disinherited me.’

‘No,’ Gaia says gently. ‘My mother calls you that because you hold the ring.’

‘You can give it back,’ Indra repeats. ‘Or bequeath it to someone else. And he can reclaim it, as the original owner. But in the meantime, you are a Princess of Arcadia by our customs. And we will follow you.’

‘Follow me?’

‘Do your bidding,’ Nyko says dryly. ‘We’re yours to command.’

She supposes, after all, that’s what Bellamy had wanted. But she just shakes her head.

‘Just take us to his estate,’ she begs. ‘That’s all. And you don’t need to call me princess.’

‘Your castle, now,’ Gaia points out.

Castle?

Before she can question it, someone knocks at the door. It’s open from when the sailor now unconscious on the floor had barged in, and the new arrival takes in that, the vomit in the corner and the sickly girl, and the Graceling dressed in rags leaning against the wall like she’s about to faint, with a wide-eyed stare and dropped-jaw.

Captain Indra stands, dismissing the crew and turns to look at Clarke. ‘I’m needed on deck, Lady Princess. We’re about to leave, but we’re also changing our course, now. You may come above, and Princess Madi’s seasickness will be less.’

‘Don’t call me Princess,’ Clarke pleads, but Indra ignores her, just beckons them both to follow her.

Once on deck, Indra barks out orders, and directs a boy to prepare a room for them both. She looks at Clarke thoughtfully.

‘I won’t ask you why you needed disguises, or how exactly the Princess is in danger. It’s your affair. But if there is assistance I can give, you need only ask.’

Clarke fiddles with the ring. She’s still furious with Bellamy, but maybe she can also be thankful for it. He’d do anything for Madi, to protect her. Clearly. And her. But she can’t let everybody ogle it. She tucks it back over her head and into her collar.

‘He’s really recovering?’ Captain Indra asks softly. She sounds concerned, but more than that of a subject. Indra could almost have Bellamy’s Grace, with the way her eyes pierce Clarke. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Why am I so concerned? Yes, we Arcadians care for our royals, but…’

‘You seem invested, yes.’ Indra almost smiles, and beckons her and Madi to follow her to a bench, where Madi sits down, relieved. The Captain reaches above her to fix a rope.

‘I mentored his younger sister. Octavia. She spent time on this boat, and I became fond of her. And she loves her brother. I became fond of both of them.’

Clarke nods, understanding.

‘He’s a good man,’ Indra continues. ‘A worthy addition to the royal family.’

‘He’s recovering,’ Clarke confirms. ‘In the safest place we could find for him.’ She wonders if Indra would still like him if she knew the truth of his Grace. It hurts her heart to think about. He can’t even tell his sister.

Indra nods in thanks and leaves them. Clarke sits heavily down next to Madi. They’re near to the back of the boat, and they watch silently as the ship pulls away from the harbour.

‘You’re safe now,’ Clarke murmurs to her.

‘I hope Bellamy is too,’ Madi replies. Her voice is already sounding a little stronger. The sea air would do good for her. Madi leans into her, and Clarke rest her chin on her head, wrapping an arm around her.

‘I can’t agree with you more,’ she replies, and they watch together as Trigeda slips away into the night.

*

The journey was going to take weeks, even with a direct route to Arcadia. But they have the advantage of a calm journey, courtesy of Indra’s Grace, and both Clarke and Madi stare out at the vast blue blanket of water, never getting bored.

Madi had made a similar, reverse journey when she was young, but she remembers none of it. Clarke, only having travelled within the mainland kingdoms, is ecstatic to finally see the ocean in all its glory.

She climbs the rigging every day, just to be by herself and look out on the water. The crew finds it funny. At first, Clarke constantly checks behind them for pursuit, and avoids talking too much with the other sailors. But gradually she trusts that none of them have heard Alie’s lies.

In fact, they all grow to adore Madi. After getting over her seasickness, she thrives among the crew, eager to do small jobs and learn knots and follow anyone doing a task she deems interesting.

A week into the trip, while helping fix a wooden rail with the carpenter, Madi cuts her hand on a stray splinter. Nyko is apparently the crew’s healer, and he raises his eyebrows at the black blood that seeps from Madi’s hand.

Gaia, having come over to check on them, gasps at the sight.

‘Nightblood!’

Madi looks up. ‘You know the legends?’

Gaia nods. ‘I studied at school…’ She looks up at Clarke. ‘This trouble you’re in. Is it to do with this?’

Clarke and Madi exchange looks. ‘Partially,’ Clarke finally says. ‘I’d better tell you and your mother the whole story.’

They dine that night in the Captain’s quarters, and she and Madi tell their portions of the story. Gaia is most interested in Madi’s side. Of Alie’s fascination with her blood.

‘I’m part of a sect in Arcadia that advocates for the royals to get nightblood. We know of its protective qualities. The King will have none of it, of course.’

‘Maybe this will convince him,’ Indra comments. ‘But I see now why you are so desperate. I will help as much as I can.’

Although they still have weeks to go, Clarke and Indra organise their plan. Once Clarke has Madi safe on shore, she’ll signal to the ship to come back. Either Clarke will stay with Madi, and Indra’s crew will do trips only between Arcadia and Eligius, to limit contact with Alie’s lies. Or Clarke will have hidden her well enough that they can return to Polaris and retrieve Bellamy. It was a vague plan, but until Alie was killed, it had to be.

‘How did you escape her in the Polaris mountains? You didn’t tell us how you got to Trigeda. Surely the mountain passes were cut off.’

Clarke sighs. ‘We went through at Sheidheda’s Pass.’

Gaia balks, nearly choking on her food. ‘I don’t believe you.’

Madi smiles. ‘You’d better. It was amazing. Clarke protected me the whole way.’

‘You can’t have. The glass storms alone, let alone the _ghosts_.’

‘Clarke shielded me from them, didn’t you Clarke?’

Clarke huffs a laugh. ‘I suppose. But we were lucky. We had good weather.’

Indra snorts, the closest thing she’s heard to a laugh from the stoic Captain. ‘You can’t lie to me about the weather, Lady Princess. Winter starts early in those mountains. The glass storms alone should have shred you to pieces.’

Clarke just shrugs. ‘It could have been worse.’

Truthfully, now that they’re finally on their way to safety, Clarke doesn’t like to think about what could have gone wrong. If they’d died in that pass, Bellamy would have been stranded in a hostile kingdom for who knows how long.

And they still could die. Nothing was sure.

But it’s nice to see the pure amazement in Captain Indra’s eyes. She’d bet anything it doesn’t come often.

*

The further south they go, the warmer the weather, and the water, gets. But when Clarke asks if she can swim in it, Nyko looks at her like she’s crazy.

‘It’s still winter, and still very cold, Lady Princess.’

She does it anyway, if not to prove a point, but because she wants to properly wash the red out of her hair. She doesn’t need the disguise anymore, and she’s not sure the poisonous berries were all that good for it.

And contrary to the crew’s raucous protests, Clarke insists the water is refreshing. Madi likes to watch her, giggling from the side of the boat.

She’s redressing in their small bunk after one such swim when Madi comments on the scars.

Clarke’s acquired only a select few of them over the years. Being Wanheda, not many got close. Only Bellamy, really. Most of them are from the glass, the strange creatures in the Pass, and the panther.

‘I want to be able to defend myself,’ Madi announces, and Clarke has to agree. They’re long overdue for more lessons after all.

Madi still has the small knife from when they met, and Clarke’s first lesson is to carry it. The lessons from the cave waiting for Bellamy have been forgotten a little, so Madi has to relearn how to not hold it so tightly, like she’s about to drop it.

When she gets the hang of it, they move on to further knife lessons, and even to fighting without it. Clarke tries to tailor it to a young, small person. She teaches Madi to inflict high pain in certain places. Biting, scratching, hair-pulling. Crotch, neck, and knees.

Everyone in the crew helps, giving Madi their own advice or standing in as dummies. Gaia gives her advice on how to hide weapons in her clothes; Nyko teaches her to stitch up accidental wounds. Even Indra gives her an entertaining lesson on intimidation.

Clarke wants Madi to have a fighting chance if things get bad. If something went wrong and they were captured, at least Madi would be lucid, with her resistance. And she might just be able to fight her way out. After all, it would be her own guards that would be her imprisoners. Sometimes those closest were the most dangerous.

Josephine. Her aunt and uncle. Octavia, to Bellamy, or his stepfather. And Alie.

The image of the queen comes to Clarke in her dreams. She shot the girl she raised almost as a daughter. She wants to experiment on a child. Her delusions had ruined a kingdom. But they’re sailing away from her, and so far, they’ve been successful in keeping Madi from her.

Clarke just prays that Bellamy too, is avoiding the sight of the woman in the red dress.

*

The days are starting to blur together when they finally spot Arcadia. Clarke’s the one to first see it, shouting from her spot on the rigging.

It’s a beautiful island. From the direction they’re approaching, there’s a huge city, surrounding a gorgeous harbour. The cliffs are rugged and worn. It almost looks like someone has taken a bite out a huge forested cookie.

She climbs down to join Madi at the rail, squinting at the bright city. Although it’s large, the wilderness around it seems to march in on it, like someone’s only taken the bare minimum room to build and let the rest alone.

It’s much more beautiful than Sanctum.

‘Do you remember much of it?’ Clarke nudges Madi, who’s drinking up the image with wide eyes.

She frowns, tilting her head. ‘I remember a small house and a nice yard. But that’s about it.’

Gaia joins them on the railing. ‘Lady Luna’s family lived on the outskirts, towards the west there. One of the larger estates.’ She points.

‘Is that where Princess Octavia still lives?’

She shrugs. ‘I think she used to live at the palace, until her engagement to Lincoln.’ She turns to Clarke. ‘A good man, a friend of my mother’s. She introduced them. They travel between Arcadia and Trigeda now, I believe.’

‘Yes, I actually know Lincoln,’ Clarke murmurs, but doesn’t take Gaia’s cue to elaborate. She’s not sure if she should be seeking Bellamy’s sister out, but Octavia is Madi’s relation. Perhaps she’d have a stake in her protection.

Bellamy’s estate was the first stop though. It was on the very south side of the island, the furthest possible edge.

They sail quite close to Arcadia as they skirt it, and Clarke gets to watch the scenery float by. Beautiful. Thick lush forests. Golden beaches, both wide and small. Towns peek out from between the trees, little fishing villages dot the cliffs.

Bellamy hadn’t described it well enough to her.

Nyko rests on the railing next to her.

‘Who will look after the girl?’

Clarke sighs. ‘Once I’ve got her settled in, I’ll find someone I trust. Maybe Princess Octavia, I don’t know. It’s hard to know what the right thing to do is. I’m the only one who knows enough and has the skills to kill Alie. But my first priority is with Madi. And if I hear her lies, then she has a very capable killer in the mix.’

‘It’s hard to believe what Indra told us, of your story. We’ve always heard the City of Light was paradise.’

She shakes her head. ‘For all the wrong reasons. You’re a healer. Imagine if your patients felt no pain. If they couldn’t cry out at whatever hurt them. Would that be easier or harder?’

‘Harder,’ Nyko answers instantly. ‘I can’t fix them if they don’t know what’s wrong.’

‘And I can’t save Polaris if they’re not released from Alie’s lies.’

Nyko dips his head. ‘Do you think she knows where you went?’

Clarke sighs. ‘I hope not. We didn’t come into contact with many people. But she recognised Bellamy and me, certainly. Our eyes at the very least. She might arrive here after all. But I can bring Madi into the wilderness, if it comes to that. I can keep her safe.’ She sounds more determined than she feels.

‘The Arcadian wilderness isn’t easy to live in,’ Nyko comments. ‘Spring is approaching, and with it the monsoon.’

Clarke has to smile. ‘Bellamy told me about being stuck in a monsoon with his sister.’ She glances at Nyko. ‘Not many people know this, but my Grace isn’t killing. It’s survival. It’s how I’ve brought Madi this far. Surviving in the wilderness with Madi is better than in Alie’s hands.’

He grimaces. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘Well, I haven’t let Bellamy down yet. And I’m not planning to any time soon.’

*

Bellamy’s estate is lovely. He’d never described it to her in great detail, but Clarke knows instantly it’s perfect for him. Someone had mentioned the word castle, before, but it’s nothing like that. It’s a house, albeit a large one, but just a house. It sits on the edge of some cliffs overlooking a small, calm cove. She can imagine Bellamy swimming in the waves. Solitary, but comfortable. Knowing his aversion to the luxury his royalty brought, she’s glad he had somewhere to escape to. If only to be able to use his Grace without the King or Octavia noticing.

Indra tells them that they’ll send Madi and her in on a small rowboat.

‘I’m sure you’ll figure out how to use it.’ She points to a spot on shore. ‘If you tie the boat up there, you’ll find stairs built into the cliff. They’re in quite a spiral, but if you take the right path when it forks it will take you to the front doors.’

‘How many staff does he have?’ Clarke asks anxiously. She can’t imagine Bellamy having many.

‘Only a few, from what I remember. But the castle is yours, Lady Princess. Once they see the ring, they’ll do your bidding.’

Clarke’s still apprehensive. She can’t imagine Bellamy’s staff being all that stuffy and royalty focused. They were no doubt loyal to him, and what if they didn’t trust her?

But there’s nothing for it. They set off in the small boat, Clarke getting the hang of rowing after only a few strokes. As agreed beforehand, Indra’s ship sets off to find shelter for the night.

They alight at the beach, tie the boat up, and quickly find the carved steps. Like something out of a story. The stairs are steep and dizzying, and Madi stumbles on legs that have since acclimated to water, not land. Clarke sends her ahead, so she can catch her if she trips.

As they emerge onto the top of the cliff, the wind howls at them fiercely. They head right at the fork, as Indra had directed. The left path looks like it heads directly to the back of the house.

Better they announce themselves.

Finally, they reach the door, and Clarke is about to knock when to her surprise, it opens.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello. Come in.’ A slender man with a dark brow ushers them into the hall. It’s cosy and warm, and the décor instantly reminds her of Bellamy. Dark wood, some golden accents but nothing extravagant. Cluttered and homey. She can already see three bookshelves, just from the front doorstep.

‘Uh, I’m Lady Clarke Griffin,’ she tries to introduce herself. The man just nods and beckons them to follow him.

‘This way, he’s expecting you.’

Clarke’s heart skips a beat. ‘What do you mean?’

Could it be? No. There was no way. He would have had to make a sea journey of his own. How on earth would he have escaped from Polaris? How could he possibly be there? Did he go after Alie on his own after all? Were they safe here now, was it all going to be okay?

She doesn’t notice that she’s rooted to the spot until the man frowns at them, and Madi tugs at her arm. She shakes her head, trying to clear it. ‘Please, what’s your name?’

‘Miller. Nathan Miller.’ Bellamy’s mentioned him before. A childhood friend. He must work at the estate now. Her heart settles just a little. ‘The family is waiting for you.’ Miller tilts his head towards a set of doors.

‘His family?’ Miller gestures, and Clarke stumbles forward, confused. ‘Miller, how long has he been here?’

‘The King has only just arrived,’ Miller answers.

The King? Before she can stop him, he pushes open the doors.

‘Lovely!’ A smooth as silk voice calls. ‘Welcome Lady Clarke! And my dear Princess Madi. I’m so delighted you’re safe and well. Come in. Do let me see you properly.’

Madi clutches at her, gasping, and Clarke looks up to see a small group of people, clustered around a long carved wooden table with people sitting around it. And at the head, facing the door, in a bright red dress, gazing at them with happy, bright blue eyes, is Queen Alie of Polaris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops? don't kill me. the next (and last) chapter isn't far away though. I swear. thanks for reading!


	4. if only you could see, heartstrings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! Finally! Thank you so much for your lovely comments over the last few months. I've loved writing this so much, and I hope I'll be able to post more fics soon.  
Also when I was procrastinating I made a little graphic for the fic imma just pop it in there okay cool
> 
> I hope you like it thanks for reading guys

* * *

There’s something about the lady in the red dress that bothers Clarke.

Something about her eyes, maybe. Or perhaps it’s the blood-red shade of her dress, or the way her eyes keep darting down to Madi. For some reason, Clarke thinks her eyes should be a different colour. Brown? Why is that thought coming to her head?

Clarke doesn’t like her, but she can’t explain, even to herself, why.

But Queen Alie is being very nice and welcoming, inviting Clarke into the room, and smiling at them. The group around the table smile too. They aren’t doing anything – not eating or drinking or working. It’s as if they’ve been waiting, gathered around for the sole purpose of Clarke and Madi’s arrival.

There’s a dark-skinned man with a gaudy crown on his head, with features that seem familiar in a way. A woman with dark hair and light eyes next to him, her face gaunt yet elegant. Across from them is a younger woman, the same dark hair but eyes brighter, piercing. And a man next to her, strong and built, with tattoos. She knows this man; he’s her friend. Lincoln. He works with Eden. That’s right. She can trust him.

She takes a hesitant step into the room. Proceed carefully, she tells herself. Madi is clutching at her, crying, and sobbing words into Clarke’s jacket.

‘She’s lying. She’s lying. Don’t listen to her, please Clarke! She’s lying.’

So Madi doesn’t like the woman either. That would have to be taken into consideration.

‘My heir, my missing heir,’ Queen Alie says. She stands up from her chair. A larger, more extravagant chair, a throne really, that doesn’t match the simple carved wooden ones the others sit in. ‘She’s sick,’ the woman says, sorrow lacing her voice. ‘It’s horrible to see her suffer, I wish to take her pain away. If she would just come to me.’

‘No, no, no,’ Madi cries. ‘She’s lying, don’t let her touch me.’

Clarke frowns. Madi’s sick. Queen Alie has clearly said so. And she could take the pain away. But was that right if Madi didn’t want her to?

‘Octavia, go and help your niece.’

The name makes Clarke’s head jerk up. Octavia. Bellamy’s sister. It doesn’t make her relax. The younger woman stands and comes towards them, hands out to Madi.

‘Come on Madi. I’m your Aunt Octavia. You can come with me.’ Octavia’s voice is husky and deep, and a mix of the Arcadian and Trigedan accents.

When Octavia reaches them, Madi screeches, holding on tighter to Clarke and kicking out at her aunt. Octavia frowns, a puzzled expression aimed at Clarke.

‘She’s hysterical.’

‘Madi, don’t you know your Aunt Octavia? You loved stories about her. Slash don’t stab, remember? She can protect you.’

But Clarke’s pleas fall on deaf ears, and Madi just turns into Clarke’s arms even more, muttering under her breath. ‘Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies.’

Clarke shrugs at Bellamy’s sister. ‘Sorry. I promised to take care of her. I think she’ll only trust me or Bellamy right now.’

Octavia purses her lips at this. ‘Where is my brother?’

‘Indeed,’ a cool voice rings out again. ‘You seem to be missing one of your party. Prince Bellamy is alive, I hope?’

There’s something under Queen Alie’s voice that makes Clarke, just for a second, think that may be a lie. But just as quick as the throught surfaces in her mind, it’s gone.

‘Yes,’ Clarke says uncertainly, because she knows that’s true. But she can’t help the feeling she’s supposed to be pretending he’s dead. But why would that be?

Queen Alie’s eyebrows rise. ‘How wonderful. Maybe we can help him. Where is he?’

‘No!’ Madi suddenly screams. ‘Don’t tell her, Clarke! Don’t tell her, don’t tell her, don’t tell her.’

‘Shh,’ Clarke tries to calm the girl down, but she’s looking at her with such wild desperation that she can’t help but nod slightly, if just to appease her.

‘Don’t tell him, please,’ Madi begs.

‘I won’t,’ Clarke promises. She tucks her own face into Madi’s hair, and it seems to ground her a little. When she’s not looking at the others, with her eyes closed and her arms full of Madi, it feels right not to tell Alie where Bellamy is. Even if they could maybe help. After all, the girl is so adamant.

When Clarke looks up again, Octavia is hanging back a bit, expression still confused. It matches the faces of the others, still stationary and vacant eyed around the table. Only Alie’s eyes are sharp, but she’s still smiling genially at Clarke.

‘I see,’ she says. ‘That’s fine. We can find out later.’ She runs her eyes over Madi again, as if calculating. The girl whimpers and slinks behind Clarke more, hiding. ‘Princess Madi isn’t herself,’ Alie finally says. ‘She’s ill, and confused, and for some reason thinks I’ll hurt her. Of course, it’s the opposite. I won’t let anything hurt my _dear_ Madi again.’

The Queen steps out from her chair, sliding to the side of the room. She doesn’t walk any closer, though, seeming to realise Madi would make a fuss.

‘I’ve been telling the Arcadian royal family here, Lady Clarke,’ she sweeps a hand at the people at the table. ‘About what happened in Polaris. How poor Madi ran away after Princess Luna’s tragic accident. How you and Prince Bellamy found her, and you’ve been keeping her safe for me. I must thank you most ardently for that.’

The Arcadian royal family. Clarke’s eyes scan the room again. The crowned man, whose features reminded her so strongly of someone. Proud and noble. A king. A Jaha. Wells!

But there’s a vagueness to his eyes that never existed in the friend she rescued. Rescued? From whom? Something swirls in Clarke’s mind. Hadn’t it been Alie? No, it was Mount Weather. That was where she had met Bellamy.

Bellamy. The woman next to Jaha, her features were so like his. Because it was his mother. Aurora, Clarke manages to remember.

The woman in question is staring at Clarke, her chin jutting proudly just like Bellamy’s. The same cheekbones, perhaps?

A cleared throat interrupts her thoughts, and Clarke stares back at Alie again.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I’ve kept her safe.’

‘I’m curious, Lady Clarke,’ Queen Alie hums. ‘So curious. How did you leave Polaris? Did you cross the mountains?’

‘Yes,’ Clarke answers, before she can think about it.

The Queen’s eyebrows rise again, but she doesn’t laugh. Instead, a disturbing sort of smile graces her face, like she’s angry and humoured at the same time.

‘That seemed like the most logical answer, when we couldn’t find you,’ she nods. ‘I wasn’t sure whether I should just wait for you to surface somewhere in the other kingdoms. But then I found out that you weren’t welcome in Sanctum. Princess no more. And of course,’ she adds, eyes on the royal family. ‘I needed to find my heir again. Everyone is searching the kingdoms for you, but I decided to try Arcadia myself. You were with Prince Bellamy, after all.’ She stops, eyes glittering on Clarke’s. ‘It was the logical conclusion.’

‘You didn’t have to worry,’ Clarke replies, confused. ‘I kept her safe. I made sure we survived.’

‘And I thank you for that. Especially now you’ve brought her to my estate, here in Arcadia.’

Her estate? Wasn’t this Bellamy’s estate? Or was it hers? But that was ridiculous. She was a disgraced ex-princess of Sanctum. This was the first time she’d set foot in Arcadia. It can’t be her estate. Why does she think that?

Clarke’s head hurts. It’s like there’s a thick fog behind her eyes, impenetrable and dizzying. And it feels familiar. But she can’t quite place it.

‘You’re welcome,’ she manages, although there’s not much sincerity behind it.

‘Now,’ Alie says, taking a heeled step towards them. Madi draws back, and Clarke with her. If only to protect her. Alie just smiles. ‘Now I just want to make sure you’re okay, Madi. I am medically trained. I can make sure she’s in no more pain. But I need her here to examine her.’

No pain for Madi. That sounded good right? Madi was crying, and Queen Alie could help.

‘Yes,’ Clarke agrees, but Madi is still collapsed against her, and shaking her head with vigour. Clarke pauses. ‘I will,’ she continues, ‘But maybe later. When she’s feeling a little better.’

Alie’s smile freezes on her face. ‘I think she needs my attention now,’ she says calmly, yet there’s an edge to her voice that pulls at the fog in Clarke’s mind.

‘Madi’s my responsibility,’ Clarke says, her voice coming out firmer than she feels. ‘She’ll stay with me for now.’

The Queen’s blue eyes glitter again. Something tells Clarke, in the back of her head, that there’s danger. But what? It’s a cold rising in her, but the fog stays, curling around every thought, as much as she tries to shake it away.

But Alie smiles again, retreating a little, and the alarm Clarke’s body feels subsides a little. ‘Well it’s commendable you’re so intent on protecting her, _Wanheda_. I will examine her later.’

‘What about my brother?’ Octavia speaks again. She’s standing near Lincoln, frowning at Clarke. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Yes,’ agrees Aurora, speaking for the first time. Bellamy’s mother stands up, looking intensely at Clarke. ‘You haven’t said whether he’s okay. Is he injured? Hurt?’

‘We are so anxious to hear,’ Alie chimes in. ‘Is he nearby? In reach of our help?’

Clarke blinks at them, once again confused. She wants to talk to Bellamy’s family. Assure them that he’s safe, or so she hopes. But weren’t there things she had to keep secret too? The fog made it hard to separate. What was important, what did she have to hide?

‘I don’t want to talk about Bellamy,’ she says defiantly, shaking her head. ‘He’s fine.’ If she can’t be sure, better to say nothing at all.

Bellamy’s mother looks disappointed, Octavia angry, but Alie purses her lips. ‘A shame.’ She begins to walk very slowly behind the throne, a deliberate pace. ‘He is such an _interesting _man. An accomplished fighter, so I hear, and incredibly loyal. And brave.’

The Queen seems to have realised that walking any closer will make Madi _or _Clarke nervous now, so she just wanders around her chair, manicured hand trailing over the armrests.

‘But of course,’ she continues after Clarke nods. ‘We all have secrets. And he, I believe, more than anyone.’

The hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck stand up, and her heart speeds up suddenly. Yet she can’t quite grasp why, the fog pulling away the answer as she reaches for it.

‘Yes,’ Alie says, staring directly at Clarke now, bright blue eyes boring into her own. ‘He posed a problem for me, you see. But then you spirited Madi away,’ she clears her throat. ‘To protect her, and I didn’t get to talk to him or you about it. But I am _so _interested, and I have a theory of my own, about our dear Bellamy.

‘And since he may reach our shores one day, from wherever he is…waiting, I believe I should enlighten you all, his family, of my theory. Yes, his loyalty is a commendable quality indeed. But I don’t believe Prince Bellamy has been quite as faithful to his family as he could be.’

Clarke is frozen in her gaze. Alie doesn’t even blink.

‘I think you, Lady Clarke Griffin, might hold the answer to solving this most unfortunate conundrum.’

Octavia, Lincoln and Jaha are frowning, but Aurora looks confused, glancing between the Queen and Clarke like she’s watching a racquet match. Clarke herself finds herself blinking furiously, trying to remember something. Something important, lost in the fog.

‘The secret, you see, is about Prince Bellamy’s Grace,’ Queen Alie concludes, standing in front of her throne with her arms clasped elegantly together.

Aurora stands suddenly, pushing her chair back with a loud scrape. ‘Wait, no,’ she begins, and looks at Clarke. Instead of confusion, there’s fear, and Clarke knows it’s mirrored back at her. Twin alarms. They both know something is very wrong. But what? What was so important and dangerous that Clarke knows Alie shouldn’t say it?

‘I believe that your honourable prince, your son, your brother, has been keeping an immense secret. Am I correct, Lady Clarke?’

Clarke can only stutter, head barely shaking.

‘His Grace,’ Queen Alie says. ‘I think that it’s…’

The fog occupying Clarke’s mind doesn’t dissipate or go away, in that moment. Instead, it crystallizes, shards pressing into her consciousness. She knows with unerring certainty that she cannot let Alie continue talking.

She’s not even altogether sure why. And she’s not sure why it feels so familiar and right to draw her gun and aim it at the Queen in the red dress.

All she knows is Bellamy has a secret, and if it’s revealed, it will hurt him and ruin his life. And she loves Bellamy, and she can’t let that happen.

Queen Alie is standing in front of her throne, a slight smile on her face as she’s about to speak her next words. She only just registers Clarke drawing her gun, too focused on delivering her words to the others, before Clarke squeezes the trigger

The bullet hits her between the eyes and Alie falls back lifeless into the chair. The echo of the gunshot hurtles around the room. King Jaha yells, Lincoln leaps up, and Octavia draws her sword and starts towards Clarke, outraged.

She knows she can’t fight her, not truly, because this is Bellamy’s sister; Clarke can’t kill or hurt her. She attempts to push Madi behind her so she can manoeuvre easier around Octavia’s attacks, but Madi resists, and staggering forwards with a wide-eyed look at the dead queen, she draws her knife and plants herself in front of Clarke. Madi holds the blade out, hand shaking, but doesn’t waver from her stance.

‘No,’ she commands. ‘You do not hurt her. She did the right thing, and you will not come near her.’ The words are said with such conviction that Octavia pauses in confusion and King Jaha rises from his spot and regards Madi.

‘She killed the Queen of Polaris, Princess Madi,’ he rasps. ‘She killed the woman who raised you. You’re confused and sick. Now stand aside…’

‘No,’ Madi insists. ‘Alie didn’t raise me. My sister Luna raised me, and she was murdered by Queen Alie. I’m better now that she’s dead. You won’t come near Clarke because she did right. I’m not a princess anymore, I’m the Queen of Polaris now. And that means Clarke’s actions are my responsibility, and she did right, and you do not step closer.’ The words rush out of her mouth, but there’s a firm set to her mouth, and her head is raised high, and Clarke, even in her confusion, can’t help but be impressed by the twelve-year-old’s mettle. She’s even eyeing Octavia with determination, apparently willing to fight even the aunt she’s idolised from afar for so long.

Octavia, on her part, just looks lost. She lowers her sword slightly but shakes her head at Madi. ‘But she killed…’

Unfortunately, Clarke can relate. After she realises she doesn’t have to fight anyone off, she stares at the gun in her hand, still slightly warm. Alie’s dead body sits in the background. Hadn’t she promised herself she was no longer a killer? Wasn’t she Sonraunheda? Clarke’s head just aches.

Lincoln appears at Octavia’s shoulder. ‘Madi,’ he says. ‘She just murdered someone, your queen…’

‘Queen Alie was evil,’ Madi announces. ‘Or at least delusional; and has brought Polaris to ruin with her ideas. She had the Grace of lying, and she’s been lying to _everyone _about _everything_. About my sister’s death, about me, about why she wanted me. About her city. And Clarke’s been protecting me from her, and today she saved me and she saved everyone.’

There’s a pause, merciful silence for Clarke’s pounding head. And then Jaha and Octavia and even Lincoln erupt into noise, confusion.

‘Enough!’ King Jaha finally roars. He breathes deeply, and then looks carefully at Madi, still staunch in position. He looks around at the dining room they’re in, the wood-panelled walls and the out-of-place throne that Alie’s body is slumped onto.

‘Did she say this estate was hers?’ He finally asks. His hands rise, and he seems to study his fingers. The rings, Clarke realises. She focuses her attention on them, because they’re something familiar among the chaos. He has five golden rings, and one is achingly similar to the one hanging around Clarke’s neck.

Aurora steps forward. ‘I believe she did,’ she says, and Clarke’s sure her eyes are just a little clearer than her husband’s. ‘And of course this is my Bellamy’s estate, so that cannot be true. Perhaps we should hear Lady Clarke out, and Princess…Queen Madi. Alie was about to say some absurd lie about Bellamy, and I for one think we should be willing to consider that they speak some sort of _real _truth.’

It’s the most she’s spoken the whole time. Clarke can hear the same cadence in her voice that Bellamy has in his. Octavia seems to calm down with the voice of her mother, and Lincoln breathes and nods too.

‘Let’s sit,’ he says. ‘And try to work this out.’

He settles back in at the table. Part of Clarke feels grateful that at least part of the chaos is over. But part of her just feels numb.

‘Will you repeat what you said, young Madi?’ Jaha offers. He sits himself and throws a significant look at Octavia, still standing with her sword half-drawn. ‘Maybe you should sheathe that.’

Octavia looks reluctant, eyeing Clarke with suspicion, but Madi presses the sword down herself, before turning to Clarke.

‘Here,’ she says softly to Clarke. ‘Let me take that.’ Clarke lets her take the gun with numb fingers, lets herself be led to sit at the wooden table. She puts her head in her hands and barely registers Lincoln calling Miller in to drag the throne away, Alie and all, to deal with later.

The fog is finally fading away from Clarke’s mind. Not popped, like the bubbles had been before, with Bellamy in the Polaris woods, but slowly dissolving.

And it was sinking in, gradually, what she had done.

For everyone else, it comes slower, even as Madi explains the situation patiently and repeatedly. Jaha is the most confused, Octavia the most defensive. But Aurora is the most lucid.

‘She came to our castle,’ she says slowly. ‘And told us that we had to come here.’

‘And something about joining our kingdoms, with her as the ruler,’ Jaha says, astonished.

‘She told me I was her new guard,’ Octavia frowns. ‘But I’m not even doing that anymore. Lincoln, what’s _happening_?’

The others dissolve into talk, going over each one of Alie’s lies with painful detail and shock, and Clarke can’t bring herself to listen properly.

As she sits with her face hidden, the image of the bullet piercing Alie’s forehead repeating in her mind, she feels a warm hand on her arm. Clarke looks up to see Aurora has come to sit next to her. She doesn’t say anything, but the hand is comforting all the same.

Madi reiterates things again and again, and Lincoln has to calm Octavia a few times, and Clarke understands the anger. Because the things Madi says are horrible. Alie’s twisted City of Light. Her Grace and its power. The nightblood and its effects on Luna and Madi, and the disturbing fascination from Alie. Until finally the story turns to the kidnapping of Wells, and it makes Jaha weep into his hands.

‘My son,’ he gasps. Lincoln has to awkwardly pat him on the back.

‘He’s okay,’ Clarke manages to say at that point. ‘He’s in Sanctum, safe and sound. Probably already recovered and wondering where we are.’

‘And Luna?’ Lincoln asks solemnly, because Octavia looks too upset to speak.

‘She murdered her,’ Clarke whispers, and Octavia closes her eyes at the confirmation. ‘I saw it myself.’ She can’t quite speak for awhile after that, remembering Luna’s body falling to the ground, the blood on Bellamy’s hands, her failure to shoot Alie then, when she had succeeded now.

Lincoln bows his head. ‘She was a great woman.’

Madi goes over to speak to him, and Aurora goes to check on her husband, and while she does, Octavia’s shrewd eyes turn to Clarke.

‘My brother then. He’s okay? Where is he? I want to come with you, back to wherever he is.’

Clarke’s still a little numb and overwhelmed, not just by the question, but Octavia looks impatient.

‘I…yes. He’s in Polaris, hiding. Recovering from an injury….’ Tears fill her eyes again, and finally Bellamy’s sister softens.

‘I have heard about you. Wanheda and her skills. I’m glad that they were enough to save Madi and my brother.’ She pauses for a second, looking like she’s about to say something else, but she leaves again. Clarke’s left to sit.

It seems to her like whatever fog was in the others’ heads has popped. Clarke’s has faded, but it still feels like there’s traces of Alie left in her mind that she can’t rid herself of. She knows it’s right that she had killed the Queen, but she’d done it so immediately and callously. Pulled the trigger without a thought. Violent.

And she’s barely been aware of it.

*

Day turns to night, and the royal family keeps discussing, arguing, amongst themselves. About the past, about what they should do next, about what they should do about Madi and Alie and it’s all too much.

It doesn’t matter to Clarke, the truth they were uncovering for themselves. How Alie had been deceiving them for years on small, manipulative visits, that Jaha especially had believed in her virtue and ideas.

What matters to Clarke is that Madi is safe. But Bellamy wasn’t out of the woods yet; Alie’s troops in Polaris could still find him, and it was still winter. And he was injured. She had to get to him as soon as she possibly could.

Clarke retires to a room Miller shows her. He’s still blinking away some confusion himself.

Madi insists on rooming with Clarke, which she can’t help but find comforting. She doesn’t want to be alone, not just yet.

She’s going through their bags, Madi lying on the bed (a mattress, Clarke!) when the girl speaks quietly.

‘Will you tell them about the ring?’

Clarke fiddles with it at her chest, trying to draw Bellamy’s warmth from it. ‘No, it’ll just worry them. I’m giving it back to him as soon as I see him.’

‘Are we leaving tomorrow?’

Clarke glances at Madi. Queen Madi, of Polaris. A twelve-year-old girl with wild hair, a knife sheathed at her side, and a traumatic past.

‘You don’t have to come,’ Clarke says. ‘It’s terrible weather. And I want to get to Bellamy as soon as possible.’

‘Of course I’m coming,’ Madi says, offended.

‘But you’re a queen now. You can travel in luxury, not on a tiny trade vessel.’

‘I’d just be bored without you or the crew,’ Madi says, determined. ‘Besides, I can’t sit here and wait. And Polaris is my kingdom now. I have to go back.’

It worries Clarke, how much responsibility Madi’s taking on, the future of a country resting on her young shoulders. She’d been through so much. But she can’t deny she wants Madi with her.

‘I’ll talk to King Jaha. We’ll signal for Indra’s ship and hopefully leave tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’ Madi looks around, sighing. ‘I could really use a bath. Where do you think I should ask?’

Clarke snorts, and looks at Madi on the bed. ‘You’re the Queen of Polaris now. Servants are at your command, highness.’

It’s Aurora who ends up coming with a servant, who whisks Madi away for what Clarke hopes is a lovely pampering.

Bellamy’s mother sits on the bed next to Clarke, silent at first. Clarke looks at her properly, now she isn’t consumed by foggy thoughts. Closer, she can see Bellamy and Octavia both in her features. The strong jawline of course, and the way her eyes seem to see through Clarke – they remind her of Bellamy. But there’s a sharpness, a piercing way they stare that seems to have been passed onto Octavia, along with her hair, nose, and longer face.

‘Highness,’ Clarke starts, out of nothing else to say, but she shakes her head.

‘Please, it’s Aurora.’ There’s silence for another second. ‘My husband, my daughter, even Lincoln, think you remembered the truth about Alie, and remembered your duty, and silenced her as soon as you could, before you forgot.’

Clarke says nothing.

‘But I believe there might be another reason you came to clarity and shot her.’

Aurora waits patiently as Clarke breathes out heavily, before she brings her eyes to Bellamy’s mother’s.

‘Bellamy told me the truth about his Grace.’

She nods slowly, and a solemn smile laces her lips. ‘He must love you a lot.’

The simplicity of the statement makes Clarke’s heart hurt. Of course, she knows it’s true. But she hasn’t seen him for so long, and that hurts too.

‘I was angry at first,’ she admits. ‘I don’t have a good history with that sort of Grace. But I have…recovered from that anger. And I…’

Aurora just smiles, seemingly understanding what Clarke can’t quite say at that moment.

‘And will you marry him?’

Clarke’s breath catches.

‘I won’t ever marry. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.’

Aurora looks a little confused, but not angry. She just nods slowly. ‘You saved his life in Polaris, according to Madi. And you saved it today, when you put a bullet through that awful woman’s head. I am very grateful. We all are. And I won’t forget it.’

Clarke ducks her head, and startles as Aurora softly kisses her forehead, before exiting the room with queenly grace.

*

It’s late the next morning when they’re finally on Indra’s ship. Clarke had risen early to talk to the king, and he had agreed quickly to leaving that day for Polaris.

Despite being back on the trade vessel, Clarke finds herself chafing, because everything is much more formal. It’s been a long time now since she felt comfortable around noble manners. The Arcadians are more relaxed about it compared to Sanctum, but it still reminds her of that part of her life.

It’s not only her and Madi on the ship now, after all. Jaha (who had told her to call him Thelonious) was accompanying them, to help Madi with the political and economical mess that was the tangle of lies Polaris was caught in. Octavia – Princess Octavia – insists on coming too, to find her brother. To Clarke’s dismay, Lincoln is on a different boat bound for Sanctum, not only to help Wells come home but also to tell them the truth of what had happened.

Aurora remains in Arcadia to rule, requesting that they send word as soon as they find Bellamy.

Thelonious Jaha is an odd king, Clarke finds. He’s jovial at times, but also seems burdened by his role in the Alie mess, despite assurances it hadn’t necessarily been his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but Alie’s.

Clarke notices him giving sage advice even to the lowliest deckhands of Indra’s crew – she supposes it stands him apart from other leaders she knows, who would never deign to do so. But she can’t help but be glad Wells is next in line. She’d only known him for a short time, but from Bellamy’s stories and their small interactions, she’s quite sure Polaris and Arcadia are in good future hands. Sanctum too, if Raven finally stepped up to lead like Clarke is sure she can.

She watches as they hoist the box containing Alie’s body onto the ship, glad that it’s being hidden deep in the cargo. The one Arcadian healer that had lived near Bellamy’s estate had found, on examination, little slips of glass over the dead Queen’s eyes that had concealed their true colours. Graceling eyes – brown, and a dark, uneasy red. Not the piercing blue ones Clarke had stared into when shooting her. Bellamy had been right.

Arcadia fades into the distance as they sail away. Clarke stares at it wistfully. She hopes she can come with Bellamy back here one day. If he’s okay.

She and Octavia strike an uneasy peace. Clarke quickly gets the impression that despite her words the previous day, Bellamy’s sister blames her at least a little bit for his situation. She doesn’t let it get to her; truthfully, from Bellamy’s stories and his own words, she had expected not to get along with the strong-minded woman.

Every day, Clarke likes to take a moment alone to think, standing at the bow of the ship, and enjoying the refreshing air and the occasional sea spray on her face. She likes having Madi as company, but it’s nice to be alone sometimes. She’s finally not running to or from danger. And she doesn’t feel as guilty about commandeering Indra’s ship anymore, not with the royal procession around her. And Madi is improving everyday with her fighting skills, especially with the help of the long-revered Aunt Octavia.

And Clarke’s finally recovering from the ordeal of killing Alie. It had to be done. She tells herself that over and over. Wanheda or not. It’s a name she’s eager to shed once and for all. Now that Sanctum isn’t her home, and Bellamy is, she can be whoever she wants to be. It’s kind of incredible, Clarke thinks, that she’d allowed her aunt and uncle to control her for so long. She’s faced much worse than them since leaving.

A week or so into the trip, Octavia comes to stand with her at the bow, silent for a few seconds, but not for long. Clarke gets the impression Octavia is never quiet for long, when she has something to say.

‘Madi’s a good fighter,’ the other woman offers.

‘I think she has the genes for it,’ Clarke replies, smiling.

Octavia rolls her eyes. ‘I’m just saying. You taught her good basics.’ It sounds almost grudging, and Clarke hides another smile. She knows that Octavia hasn’t come up to her to compliment Madi. She obviously has something to ask.

‘You and Bell,’ she ends up asking slowly. ‘You’re not married, are you?’

Maybe one day, people would stop asking Clarke that. Probably not any time soon.

‘No.’

‘So why does Indra call you Princess? Is she ignoring your separation from Sanctum? Aren’t you just a lady now? I tried asking her, but she said it wasn’t her place to say.’ There’s accusation in the voice, and Clarke sighs.

She fishes the ring out from around her neck, not taking it off, but laying it out in her palm for Octavia to see.

‘He didn’t tell me what it meant, when he gave it to me,’ Clarke says shortly, before Octavia can move her gaping mouth. ‘Of course, I knew it was his ring for himself…but all he said was that it would allow me to persuade an Arcadian ship to take Madi and me wherever we needed.’

Along with her mouth, Octavia’s eyes are wide and shocked. She glances between Clarke and the ring, and absentmindedly, Clarke thinks, rubs one of her own. The one that must represent Bellamy to her. The shock quickly fades to an expression of annoyance. Then confusion. Then some sort of stubborn set to her jaw that really does remind Clarke of Bellamy.

‘He’ll have a reason for it,’ she finally says, somewhat doubtfully.

‘He’d better,’ Clarke replies. ‘Or I won’t be going easy at all when we fight next.’

Octavia chokes back a laugh. ‘Well I can see why he likes you, at least.’ She fiddles with her ring again. ‘Are you sure he’ll be okay?’

‘He wasn’t dying,’ Clarke says softly. ‘But he was very hurt. Otherwise we wouldn’t…couldn’t have separated.’

Octavia nods stiffly. ‘Well, Lady Clarke. You and I will have to have our own match one day. But perhaps after we ensure Bell is okay.’ She nods again and walks away.

Clarke lets out a harsh breath and stares down at the roiling sea.

Please be okay, Bellamy, she pleads silently. Or your sister and I will never get along.

She hopes it will make him smile, to see them together. His family united, and everyone okay. Including him.

*

After some days of delays due to winter storms, they finally reach the southern port city of Polaris. Clarke itches from the moment she spots land in the distance.

They disembark and the wait is still unbearable. Because of course, Jaha has to explain everything to the guards and nobles of Polaris – calling for the search for Madi to cease, calling for the hunt for Clarke and Bellamy to cease. Especially the instructions to take Bellamy dead.

They’re confused of course. They’ve probably been under Alie’s spell longer, and it takes them some time to understand, fighting through their own fogs.

Clarke taps her foot as one of the head guards goes over things with Jaha for the fiftieth time.

‘Has he been found?’ She finally asks, impatient.

‘Who?’

‘The prince,’ Jaha says calmly.

‘I thought you said he was safe in Sanctum,’ the guard frowns.

‘Not my son. Prince Bellamy. The Graceling who you’re hunting for. A golden eye. Hard to miss, if you have found him.’

‘Oh! And he’s not the enemy, anymore, right? No, no. I don’t think so.’

Clarke’s not sure whether to be frustrated or relieved. He’s still okay, she assures herself. Still hiding in the cabin, behind the waterfall.

It’s thanks to Octavia that they finally convince Jaha to let her and Clarke and Madi (and some Polaris guards to accompany them and clear the way) go on ahead.

‘My brother is my priority, Thelonious,’ Octavia snaps. ‘Fixing things here is going to take days, and they could find him any moment.’

They’re on the road soon after, thundering up the long northern-bound road that Madi and Clarke had meant to travel all those weeks ago.

They have to stop occasionally in small towns and inns for the night, but at least there’s little camping. And at each place they stop, they have to allow the guards to go through the tedious process of undoing Alie’s lies, and passing it on so that hopefully, no one will find him before they reach him.

Luckily for Clarke, Octavia is just as impatient as her. With Bellamy’s sister taking the role of demanding, and she finds she can focus her energy on making sure Madi is okay. The young queen wears their pace well though, staying quiet for the most part. And she’s wrapped in much better furs than the ones Clarke had scavenged from hunted rabbits.

Eventually they veer off the main path, hauling their way through large snowbanks and white trees, heading north-west towards the mountains and the cabin. Winter has truly hit Polaris, and Clarke worries about Bellamy. She hopes he’s been able to keep warm. She can’t quite imagine not hugging him again and feeling his burning, comforting heat on her skin.

The trees grow thicker, the terrain harder. They climb and climb, following Clarke’s maps and her Grace’s intuition. It feels like any day, that they’ll reach him. But time seems to stretch anyway.

It’s noon one particularly snowy day when Clarke has to argue with Octavia about stopping for a rest. Madi is flagging, and she’s sure that the guards have spread the new message to not attack Bellamy by now. Neither of them is sure just how much further it is, and it was useless to push on and make Madi sick if they weren’t going to reach him anyway.

She doesn’t reveal her deeper, more primal fear. What if, when they reach the cabin, Bellamy hasn’t…hasn’t…She almost doesn’t want to know the answer, for all she needs to see it for her own eyes.

Octavia fights furiously with her, willing to run them all to the bone to reach her brother.

‘You’re just being a spoiled princess!’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Clarke snipes back. ‘I’m not a princess.’ You are, she can’t help but point out silently.

‘I thought you liked that nickname, Princess,’ a voice rings out.

A male voice. Bellamy’s, from just off the path they’ve been following.

She’d been too busy arguing to notice.

He’s standing on a snowbank, grinning broadly at them. The same dimples, the same freckles, the same golden eye.

‘Bellamy,’ she breathes.

Clarke doesn’t think. She just runs as hard as she can. She jumps into his arms when she reaches him, tucking her head into his shoulder and feeling tears leak out as he braces his arms strongly around her to hold her to him. She’s sure he can feel everything she’s feeling. Relief. Love. Happiness.

She pulls back to see his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

Only when you call me Princess, she thinks to him, as answer to his first words.

So fast she thinks she might imagine it, he winces with pain, but then he’s raining kisses down on her, kissing her lips and her nose and her eyes and crying a little bit himself, she’s pretty sure.

They’re interrupted with squealing. Madi has reached them, and she tackles them both into the snow, hugging them both and laughing with joy. Bellamy laughs back and hugs them both to him.

‘Hey big brother,’ Octavia finally says, standing over them. They get up from the snow and Bellamy gives her a one-armed hug.

‘Hey, O,’ he says, but Clarke’s sure that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Now she knows something’s wrong.

But then he’s shaking the guards’ hands, smiling broadly again, and he leads them back to the cabin that’s kept him safe.

*

It looks homey and lived in. Bellamy’s cleaned it up, maintained it. There are animal furs on the floor and carved wooden things littering every surface.

Bellamy sits down at the table and looks pleased when they unpack a proper meal. Bread and salted meat and even some fruit.

‘I haven’t eaten much but fish for a while,’ he admits.

‘We brought you everything we could,’ Octavia says proudly. She reverts to the role of a little sister in his presence, and it’s cute to watch. ‘Except the apples from your estate. They weren’t in season.’

‘So you made it,’ Bellamy says. He smiles at Madi, who’s tucking into the meal ostensibly for him with gusto. ‘And I can see that it ends well. How about you start from the beginning? Or from when you left me, at least.’

Octavia sits up too. ‘I haven’t heard the full story either. I’m curious.’

Clarke indulges the Blakes, launching into the story after she and Madi had left Bellamy. Madi interjects with what she thinks are the most exciting bits.

‘Clarke saved me from the glass storms, and then killed a panther, and then…’

Clarke fills in the gaps, but it’s when she’s describing their encounter with Alie at his estate that she realises that Bellamy isn’t totally paying attention.

Sure, his ears look pricked up, but he’s watching the table instead of looking at her or Madi, and his eyes aren’t sparkling. Engaged, like they usually are when he’s listening.

Just as she’s thinking it, Bellamy looks up and meets her eyes for a second. But it’s just a second. He looks away again just as quickly.

It unsettles Clarke. ‘Anyway,’ she continues. ‘Alie had me under her control. Until I had a flash of clarity and I pulled my gun and shot her.’ I’ll tell you what really happened when we’re alone, she adds to him, with her thoughts.

This time, the wince is obvious to her. A flash of acute pain across his face. The second time it’s happened. But then he smiles easily at them all, and Madi and Octavia don’t seem to notice anything.

‘And now you’re home.’

‘Yeah,’ Clarke says. ‘And I’ve got your ring. Arcadia is beautiful, but it can’t belong to me.’ She tries to inject her anger at him underneath, at what he didn’t tell her about the ring, but it falls flat because there’s another look of pain on his face. Not a wince, but a palpable look of…sorrow? Clarke doesn’t understand.

She glares at him, because it’s clear as day to her, that he’s hiding something. Thankfully Octavia and Madi are distracted with the food, but he sighs.

‘How about you come hunting with me, Clarke. I’ll show you the best spots.’

He rises, and she could swear he’s unbalanced as he does so, swaying slightly in a way that reminds her of how they left him. She looks to the others, but Octavia just looks happy that he’s up, and Madi is oblivious too.

So she nods jerkily, and they leave, trudging out into the snow.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Clarke pulls up next to him. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he grumbles, short. At least he’s not smiling to cover it up, but he’s still lying. She follows him to the river, which is now frozen over.

They stand at the bank. ‘So the fish trap worked okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did the soldiers find the cabin? Did they search it?’

‘Yeah.’

What was with these one-word answers? Clarke huffs, frustrated. ‘And you were okay? You made it okay?’

Bellamy just nods, and leads her up a small track, up a rise that leads them to the top of the waterfall, where he sits on a log. It’s not covered with snow. He must sit here frequently, Clarke thinks.

She sits down next to him, baffled at his behaviour. He’s staring down at his hands, wordless.

‘Something is the matter with you,’ Clarke finally says quietly.

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘Tell me!’

‘I don’t take orders from you,’ Bellamy snaps, but he just as quickly sighs morosely. ‘I wouldn’t force your thoughts from you if you were hiding them from me. If you didn’t want to share.’

Clarke shakes her head slowly. ‘But…you’re lying to me. Something _is _wrong. You can’t hide that from me, Bellamy.’

He just looks away, out into the distance, before he scrubs a hand over his face. She’s sure he’s trying to hide tears from her.

Bellamy, she whispers into his mind, as quietly as she possibly can with a thought.

He winces, very perceptibly. ‘It makes me dizzy when you talk to me like that,’ he mutters.

For some reason, it hurts Clarke’s heart to hear that. But it’s easily fixed. ‘Then I won’t do it,’ Clarke says, exasperated. She resists the urge to grab his face, to check him all over. Instead she lets her eyes do it. ‘Your head still hurts from the rock?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Is that what’s wrong?’

‘I told you, Clarke. Nothing’s wrong.’

She can’t help but feel tears welling.

‘Bellamy, please.’

‘It’s nothing worth your worry, Princess.’ Somehow the nickname isn’t fond anymore, not even like it was when he’d said it that morning. But it’s not anger, that she detects. Just sadness.

It hurts more. She gets the feeling that he doesn’t even want touch from her, even though she’d thrown herself into his arms only hours ago.

Clarke reaches into her collar and pulls out the ring, lifting it over her head for the first time since showing it to Indra. ‘Here.’

He doesn’t look at. He’s looking at anything but her.

‘I don’t want it.’ His words are short.

‘What do you mean?’ Clarke says, confused. ‘It’s your ring.’

‘You should keep it,’ he says.

She shakes her again, aghast. ‘I can’t do that. Bellamy, I don’t know why you gave me this one in the first place. I wish you hadn’t. Indra told me it didn’t have to be _this _one. Yours. Any of the others would have done.’

‘Clarke,’ Bellamy starts, then pauses, looking down at his hands again. She wishes he would just look at her, instead of at his damn hands. ‘I knew there was a good chance I would die, when I went to kill Alie. And if you couldn’t go back to Sanctum, well. At least with that ring you’d have a place to stay. A home.’

‘My home is with you,’ Clarke tells him tearfully. ‘I don’t care how beautiful Arcadia is—’

‘Sure you don’t.’ His words are bitter, angry, now, and Clarke’s never been more confused.

‘I don’t understand why you’re being like this.’

Bellamy grimaces. ‘What’s so bad about you keeping the ring, Princess? My place not pretty enough?’

‘What—'

‘Seriously, keep it and go back to Arcadia. Wells will be glad for the company, and I’m sure my mother loved you, too.’

Clarke can barely speak. ‘What, without you?’

He looks to the sky. ‘I think I might stay here.’

‘What?’

‘It’s peaceful here.’ He grabs a stick from next to them and digs into the dirt. ‘Far away from everyone. I want to be alone. You should move on, Clarke. Keep the ring. I don’t want it.’ He pushes her hand away from where she’s been holding it out.

Now she really is speechless, staring at the ring in her hand. She can’t fathom what’s wrong, but she can’t talk to him like this.

Clarke grabs his hand and opens it, placing it into his large, warm hand. So familiar to her. He closes it into a fist.

‘Fine,’ he scowls. ‘I’ll give it to O. She can take it back and decide what to do with it.’ He stands up, but Clarke finds her words again.

‘You don’t think your sister won’t have a thousand more questions than me about the ring? Bellamy?’

He cuts her off as he steadies himself from that slight imbalance, before he walks away into the brush, leaving Clarke desolate, and more than a little bewildered at his change from the morning until now.

*

Bellamy sleeps on the floor that night, propped against a wall. He’d insisted that Madi and Clarke take the bed.

He’d acted normal after he got back from hunting, taking her aside to apologise to her. He’d said it was the loneliness making him moody.

Clarke still isn’t convinced. He still can’t meet her eye. And at dinner, he stares at his food moodily while Madi chatters and Octavia banters with the guards.

She can’t stand it. She can’t read him at all. It’s like he’s turned off all the usual signals she uses to understand him; even his eyes lack the usual stark and unfiltered emotion.

It bothers her immensely. If he just wanted to be alone, she could maybe deal with that. But she knows in her heart there’s something he isn’t telling her, and that his weird, angsty sorrow is stemming from it.

And damn if she isn’t going to try and ease whatever pain that is.

In the morning, he seems fine, in better spirits. He chats more, engaging in the conversation. But he only picks at the food, moving it around on his plate and dividing it into smaller pieces as if to distract from the fact he isn’t eating it.

By the time he excuses himself, even Octavia and Madi have noticed, both staring out after him.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ Madi asks.

She’s a smart girl. There’s no use in Clarke pretending there isn’t something off.

‘I don’t know,’ Clarke sighs, pushing her own plate away. Watching him not eat made her less hungry.

Octavia shakes her head. ‘Sometimes he’s fine, same old Bell. But other times he’s moody and weird. I thought it might be a lover’s quarrel,’ she adds in a dry voice.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. ‘Possible,’ she admits. ‘But if it is, he hasn’t told me what it is, and I don’t know about it.’

‘There’s something odd about his eyes,’ Madi says decisively, tucking back into her third helping of bread and eggs.

Octavia rolls her eyes. ‘Yes, that’ll happen. He’s a Graceling. One with a golden eye to boot.’

But Clarke frowns. Madi hadn’t meant that, of course. She was used to Gracelings. Something different…

He wouldn’t look at her. Not in the way he used to, the way that used to take her breath away. Even lifting his eyes to hers, the few times he’s done it, seems like a burden to him.

And suddenly, Clarke’s mind flashes with memories. Bellamy wincing with the pain of his injury. Scrubbing his hand over his eyes. His wooziness. The smack of his head against the rock. The lack of emotion in his eyes.

Clarke feels herself pale. ‘Excuse me,’ she interrupts whatever Octavia’s saying. ‘I have to go check on something.’

She races out, asking a guard where he’s gone. She points to the river, and Clarke runs through the snow, finding him standing on the bank looking out at the ice. She’s approaching from behind, but he speaks first.

‘I know you have that Grace of yours, but I wish you wouldn’t leave the cabin without a coat.’

‘Bellamy,’ Clarke says, tentative. ‘Turn around and look at me.’

His shoulders stiffen.

‘Bellamy. Please.’

He turns, reluctantly, slowly. His eyes rise to her face, but it’s only for a second. They drop to the snow, empty of all spark and interest and focus.

Clarke approaches slowly, until she’s just below him, shorter than him as she is.

‘Bellamy,’ she whispers. ‘Are you blind?’

A strangled sound erupts from his, halfway between a cry and a sob. Clarke half catches him as he collapses to the ground, kneeling with him and hugging him close. He nuzzles into her neck, broken sobs shuddering through his entire body.

She kisses his cheeks, holds his face in his hands, kisses his eyelids, even as he still cries.

‘I’m sorry,’ she tells him, tears freezing on her face in the cold.

‘Why are you sorry?’ He manages. ‘I’ve been keeping it from you, I didn’t want you to…’

‘Bellamy, you’ll get through this. I promise. What do you need me to do?’

He shudders again and brings her into a stronger hug, both sitting in wet snow but ignoring the cold and embracing the warmth of each other.

‘Just be here,’ he says.

They stay there, Bellamy wrapped in her arms on the bank of the frozen river, for a long time.

*

The winter in Polaris only gets stronger, kicking up many a storm and blizzard, and delaying Madi’s return to Polis. Through letters with Jaha, who’s in the city fixing things as best he can, they decide to wait for her coronation until spring.

Dealing with the strong personalities of both Madi and his sister is trying on Bellamy. His coldness with Octavia at the start had been because he knew he couldn’t tell her the truth without revealing his Grace. Plus the fact he’d never see his sister again. But he couldn’t ask Octavia to stay away, and his intention was, for the meantime, to stay hidden away from the world.

Clarke eases the story out of him bit by bit, in the small moments they have alone hunting, or collecting fish from the river, or when Octavia takes Madi out to ‘give the lovers space.’ All they do is talk, but Clarke knows Bellamy is relieved when it’s just the two of them.

‘I was afraid of you leaving,’ he admits to her. ‘I knew something was wrong with my vision. It kept blurring and blanking out. That’s why I begged for us to stay together at first. I was terrified. But you were right,’ he says ruefully. ‘I would have been a liability.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Clarke asks, sick at the thought of him so ill and alone and losing his sight.

‘You’d never have left me, Princess. But you were right. You and Madi had to go without me.’

She sighs. ‘So when did it…go?’

‘I spent most of my time in bed, at first. Waiting for the dizziness to pass. But it didn’t. I’m not sure how long it was, probably a few days. But one morning, or night, I’m not sure, I woke up from my sleep with it just…gone. Just total blackness.’

She has to hug his arm, nosing into his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Bellamy. You must have been—’

‘Scared? Angry? Yeah. I couldn’t see. Could barely walk. I’d gone through the rations you left me. And I didn’t feel like crawling to the river, not in the condition I was in.’

Clarke tries not to show how horrified she is, at the thought of Bellamy alone like that. Starving and in pain. She’s sure he knows anyway.

‘What forced me to the river wasn’t hunger, actually. It was the soldiers. Even in the haze I sensed them coming up towards the cabin. Before I realised what I was doing, I was staggering around collecting my things, hiding what I could, and then I made my way to the water.’

‘Gods, Bellamy. You’re lucky you didn’t drown, or freeze, or go into shock. That water wasn’t warm.’

He smiles a little. ‘It was cold, but that actually ended up being good. It kind of…woke me up a little. And swimming was better than walking. I got through the tunnel, beached myself on the rocks, just like you said. And…and then…’

Bellamy pauses.

‘And?’

‘And I found peace. There isn’t anything to see in that cave. I assume,’ he adds.

Clarke just nods.

‘But I could feel it all around me with my Grace. And I realised how stupid I was being. I’m lucky. I can still find my way around. I still have my sense of self, I wasn’t lost to Alie. And here I was, safe and sound, while Alie was out there destroying people’s lives and putting you and Madi in danger.’

‘Bellamy, you’re allowed to feel hurt.’

He ignores her. ‘Knowing she was still out there, it got me out of the cave, once the soldiers were gone. To the trap, to the fish. Back to the cabin. I still couldn’t walk properly, and I was dizzy as hell, but it gave me something to focus on. I had to get better, so that when I faced her again…’

And Clarke understands, with flash of sharp clarity, what he can’t say. The misery on his face is plain to her now. They’d come back with the happy news that Alie was gone, but now Bellamy had nothing left to get better for. And he felt guilty, that he felt so sorry for himself. Guilty that a little part of him wished Alie was still alive.

He doesn’t speak anymore that day, brooding even as Madi tries to cajole him into trying something she’d cooked herself. It pains Clarke to see him so sad, and so angry at himself for feeling it.

‘Bellamy,’ she tries to begin with him, the next day when they’re collecting water. He’s managed to send Octavia away to collect supplies from the nearest village in between blizzards, and Madi is holed up in the cabin, complaining it’s too cold to go out.

It’s a good thing, because he’s in a worse mood than usual. Which is why Clarke’s trying to talk him out of it.

Of course, he knows what she’d about to say. ‘I haven’t lost anything,’ he replies to her, sour. ‘My Grace lets me see everything, or good enough. I know where the trees are. I know where you are. I know when you’re smiling. I know when you’re looking at me that way. I can’t stand you pitying me, Clarke. I don’t have any right to be so—’

‘Bellamy,’ she interrupts him sharply. ‘You’ve lost enough. She drags him down to sit next to her and elbows him. ‘Sight and your Grace aren’t the same. You know the form of things, sure. But what about colour? Light? Details of feathers on a bird, or the pattern of bark on trees. The sunlight streaming through the canopy. And books!’ She cries ‘Books, Bellamy. I know how much you love to read. And now—’

‘Well you don’t have to rub it in, Princess,’ he grimaces. There’s a slight smile behind his grouch though.

‘I’m just saying. You’re allowed to be sad about what you’ve lost.’

He sighs. ‘It’s why I don’t want to go back to Arcadia. I miss it so much, but…’ he trails off, looking off centre at her. ‘It’s hard enough with you here.’

Clarke’s heart sinks. ‘Hard with me here?’

Bellamy shakes his head. ‘Not like you think.’ He opens his arms, and Clarke tucks herself into the curve of his body. ‘It hurts that I can’t see you,’ he whispers. ‘Your hair. Your eyes. Not that I just like your looks,’ he adds hastily. ‘But—’

Clarke presses her ear against his chest, listening for his steady heartbeat. ‘I look forward to you cutting my hair again.’

He snorts.

She leans up to kiss him. It’s the first time he’s let her in since they were reunited, and Clarke revels in it. A long, slow, gentle kiss that cascades into a second, and a third.

‘You’ll just have to learn to see me in a different way,’ she murmurs into his mouth.

Bellamy pulls back for a second, letting out a strangled laugh. But she thinks she might have made a difference, because he kisses her again, opening her lips and letting his tongue through so that they’re properly kissing, for a good while longer.

When they break a little, she takes his hands, rubbing a finger over where his ring is still missing.

‘I’m not ready to leave,’ he confesses. ‘But I don’t want you to have to stay here with me, when I’m like this.’

Clarke stops herself from fully scoffing, but she plants a firm kiss on his jaw. ‘I’m not leaving you again. I’m here as long as you want me.’

*

Bellamy has a talent for acting. Just like when he’d fooled the merchants back in Tondisi all those months ago, he has a talent for expressing things he’s not truly feeling.

To Octavia he’s a typical older brother – grabbing her in headlocks, teasing her, over-protective in his next breath. He holds spirited conversations with Madi, indulging in the girl’s desire to hear all the stories in his repertoire. And his naturally surly and grumpy demeanour hides a lot of his other bouts of misery.

When he can’t find the energy to pretend that he’s looking at them, Clarke notices he plays it as inattention, distraction. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to alarm Madi or Octavia, and so his Grace his hidden. Which, after all, is the main objective of his performance.

Clarke’s just glad he’s able to drop the act with her. Yet it also destroys her to see him so weary, pain pulling at the corners of his mouth, eyes glazing over when he stares off into the distance, unseeing.

It becomes evident to her how much effort he puts into maintaining his balance when the others are around, because when he’s alone with Clarke, he leans on her or trees, or sits when he’s too dizzy.

Clarke observes him in this state for a few days before understanding why he’s having so much trouble.

‘I think you’re overwhelmed by your Grace.’

‘That’s not new,’ Bellamy grumbles.

‘But without your vision to anchor what you’re sensing, it’s confusing, right?’

He huffs. ‘Endlessly.’ But he seems thoughtful.

It’s a sunny day between storms, and they’re sitting by the water again. It seems to be his favourite place. Clarke thinks that maybe the water flowing under the ice calms him, but she hasn’t asked him about it.

Bellamy sits up suddenly, spine straight, peels a knife from his pocket, twists and throws it into a snowbank behind them.

‘Bellamy?’

‘Big rabbit,’ he answers, chewing on his lip. His hand lands on her shoulder to lever himself up, but as he does so a flock of birds swoop down from the trees at the top of the waterfall, and he winces and drops to a knee.

Clarke twists and runs a hand over his shoulder, alarmed. ‘Are you okay? Sensing things hasn’t knocked you down so much before.’

‘When things surprise me, it’s worse.’ He grimaces. ‘You’re right, I am overwhelmed. Not only do I sense the landscape, but the fish in the river and the birds in the trees and the critters in the rocks and…’ he waves a hand back towards the cabin. ‘Madi and Octavia are back there thinking about me. Madi’s worried. Octavia’s thinking that I’m not eating enough. And you. I feel every worry you have for me. I wish you didn’t have to.’

‘I don’t think I could stop if I tried,’ Clarke tells him with a sad smile.

‘I know,’ he says, and gives her a weak grin in return. But it turns to a frustrated noise. ‘I just wish I could focus it. When I could see, I could close my eyes and I was fine. Why is it when blindness is forced upon me, I can’t concentrate? It’s like it’s too much all at once.’

Clarke wishes she had the words to comfort him, but she doesn’t. It just sucks, and all she can do is be there for him. He noses into her shoulder before pulling himself to his feet and offering her a hand before they start back to the cabin.

Just as they’re leaving, the clouds gather over and darken again, and as it starts to snow, he leans on her, to steady himself.

*

Clarke knows it’s selfish of her, to miss the way Bellamy’s eyes used to see through her. There were worse things that he was enduring. Her missing the way he used to look at her with that piercing gaze is low on the list of importance.

It’s not like Bellamy doesn’t focus on her. She notices a new way he looks at her. An angling of his body towards her, a stillness that lets her know he’s paying attention.

She thinks he might be recovering, albeit slowly. There’s less of his play-acting with Octavia and Madi, and his smiles come a little easier. He kisses her all the time now, much to her pleasure.

Octavia’s taken Madi to the village for the day when a storm blows over, and the snow falls so fast and thick that there’s no doubt the others will have to take lodging overnight. So Clarke and Bellamy have the cabin to themselves, and they’re on the floor in front of the fire, carving wood.

Bellamy had told her it was what kept his hands busy and mind sharp while alone for so long. The little sculptures are ugly as anything of course, not really looking like anything. Luckily, Octavia immediately attributed it to her brother’s lack of talent, not a lack of sight. But Clarke likes the little figures, because Bellamy made them, and she likes thinking about him using his big hands to carve away the little slivers of wood.

‘Clarke,’ he says quietly, interrupting their content silence. ‘Am I looking directly at you?’

She turns to meet his gaze and his eyes burn into her, like it’s the first time. Her breath catches, her heart beating an unsteady rhythm in her chest. They’re in the cabin alone, with no one to interrupt them tonight…

Bellamy grins, the rare sight lighting Clarke up like it lights up his face.

‘Well I guess that answers my question, Princess.’

She blushes, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

‘Why are you practising that? You know you don’t need to pretend with me.’

‘Not for you. Madi still thinks there’s something strange about my eyes. Octavia’s less suspicious, but she still thinks I’m acting weird.’ He smirks a little. ‘But I don’t mind making you feel like that sometimes, Princess.’

Clarke rolls her eyes. ‘Well you achieved what you wanted, I guess. How do you do it?’

‘I know where your eyes are, I just have to make sure mine line up with yours, and sense for your reaction at the same time. Can I try it again?’

She flushes but nods and tries to ignore the rush of heat at his intense gaze on hers again. Yes, it really did seem like he was seeing through her. But now that she looked closely, putting aside her attraction, small things told her otherwise.

‘What are they?’

‘I don’t think many others would notice,’ Clarke says honestly. ‘But it’s like your focus is off. As if you’re seeing me but not quite processing it. Like your mind is elsewhere.’

‘Mm. Madi notices that.’

‘I think if you just…squint a little, maybe? Furrow your eyebrows a little. Yes, there. I think that’s pretty good.’

He gives her one more smile before dropping his gaze. ‘Thanks, Princess. Can I practice with you sometimes? Without you wanting to rip off my clothes?’

She glares. ‘Shut up, Bellamy.’

(Later that night, Clarke does rip off his shirt as they’re kissing furiously, too caught in the moment to care.)

*

‘If I get Thelonious to send me a sword, will you help me learn how to use it?’

Madi directs this question at both Clarke and Octavia over breakfast. Bellamy’s sister raises her eyebrows but turns and shrugs at Clarke.

‘I would like to see you in action.’

‘I think Clarke would beat me pretty easily,’ Madi says doubtfully.

Octavia snorts. ‘I was thinking a match between us. Clarke and me.’

‘Oh, please fight her, Clarke. I’d love to see her taken down a notch,’ Bellamy smirks.

Octavia looks offended. ‘Is it so out of the realm of possibility I could beat her?’

‘Yes,’ Bellamy answers simply. Octavia huffs.

‘Well maybe I need to see Wanheda destroy someone else. Bellamy, you need to get back in the game, right?’

Clarke tilts her head. ‘Bellamy isn’t that easy to beat.’

‘I probably am these days,’ Bellamy says wryly.

‘Well I want a sword,’ Madi says clearly, raising her fork as if to imitate the use of the weapon.

Bellamy smiles, indulgent. ‘I think two guards are leaving for the city today. I’ll catch them.’

He gets up quickly to leave, speeding out of the cabin like a demon, and Octavia lifts an eyebrow.

‘Quick on his feet today.’

Madi lets out a long sigh, putting the fork down. She sounds older than she is. ‘Winter is nearly ending, and I do want to go to Polis. But I don’t want to until he’s better, and I’m not convinced. But at least he’s finally eating.’

‘He is?’ Clarke glances at Bellamy’s plate to notice it is, for once, empty. ‘I’ll go after him. He forgot his coat again.’

Clarke quickly exits too. He really was eating better. She’s been so focused on how he’s dealing with his Grace that she stupidly hasn’t focused on his food. He’d been so reluctant for weeks, the dizziness and nausea putting him off.

If he was eating better, then perhaps his Grace was improving on him.

She finds him, as usual, next to the river. He is indeed without his coat, which is rich when he’s always admonishing her for not wearing hers.

‘Am I wrong? You don’t have yours with you,’ Bellamy calls over his shoulder as she approaches.

‘I’m warm enough,’ Clarke rolls her eyes, coming to stand beside him.

‘If you’re warm enough, and I don’t have a coat, perhaps you should be its substitute for me.’

‘Shut up, you’re basically a furnace,’ Clarke grumbles at him, but she tucks herself under his arm anyway. There’s a slight smile resting on his face that surprises her. He almost looks…content.

‘It surprises me too,’ he says, and Clarke squeezes him.

‘You didn’t always respond to my thoughts.’ They overwhelmed him, she knew, so it was nice to see him not wincing as if her mind was attacking him.

Bellamy hums. ‘Well, something happened.’

He pauses, and she just waits. He’s obviously itching to tell her. He just needs to find his words.

‘I’ve been fighting it, all this time,’ he finally says. ‘My Grace. Trying to ignore what it’s constantly throwing at me. Trying desperately to focus on what I wanted or needed to at the time.’

What was he getting at?

‘Well, I stopped.’

‘You stopped?’

He lifts a corner of his mouth. ‘It was in a fit of misery, when the headaches were becoming too much. I just let it take over me, overwhelm me, and suddenly…it started to make sense. Instead of ten thousand little details trying to be noticed, it’s like one big picture. Surrounding me, but not pressing in.

Clarke presses her cheek to his shoulder, looking at up him. ‘Bellamy, that’s wonderful.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he huffs. ‘It’s still overwhelming. And I still can’t see. But I’ve found my balance.’

She can’t help but let a silly grin take over her face.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. All those thoughts you guys have about me? All the creatures and trees and rocks? They’re just…there. I don’t have to ignore them to focus on you.’

He turns his head down to where he knows she’s grinning at him, and she can’t help but lean up to kiss him. He responds enthusiastically, in a playful way she hasn’t felt from him in forever.

She doesn’t let him get too carried away, though.

‘You know what this means, right?’

He frowns.

‘If you’re not so dizzy, if you can focus without getting a headache or sick…’

‘What, Clarke? You’re hiding it from me.’ He pokes her in the side.

‘Fighting,’ she says. ‘I think you should start fighting again. Come on!’ She says as he looks a little doubtful. ‘It’ll improve your balance, bring back some of your strength. You can start with Octavia and then work up to me,’ she teases.

He’s silent for a second, and Clarke thinks, for a fearful moment, that she’s overstepped. But he eventually just smiles, leans down to touch his forehead to hers.

‘Is that an order?’

‘You don’t take orders from me,’ Clarke laughs. ‘But it is a recommendation.’

‘It is, huh?’ He lifts his hand to her face, to turn it to his for another kiss.

And she grins into it, because when she feels his warm, gentle fingers on her cheek, she notices that he’s wearing his ring again.

*

Clarke feels a little like a proper teacher, when they get set up for it all.

She sets Octavia and Bellamy to fighting, no weapons of course. Starting them with drills, just simple punching and kicking, before letting them wrestle properly.

Alongside the battling siblings, Clarke teaches Madi the ways of a sword. It’s certainly an upgrade from the knife the girl has carried for so long.

And when Bellamy needs a break, Octavia steps in to help Madi, giving her own advice and demonstrating her own style.

They work at it nearly every day. At first, Octavia beats Bellamy soundly in every fight. Clarke can tell she’s enjoying it immensely – growing up with a brother who has (what she thinks is) a fighting Grace, it must be a novelty for her to beat him.

Madi’s starting to advance to more complex manoeuvres, a quick learner as always, on the day that Bellamy finally gains the upper hand on his sister. Octavia stumbles to the ground, letting out a surprised yelp.

‘There you go, O,’ Bellamy laughs, pinning her. ‘Your winning days are over.’

She scowls, but Clarke can tell she’s just as pleased to see Bellamy with his strength and spirit back.

The winner points at Clarke, challenging. ‘You’re next, Princess.’

Clarke scoffs, grinning. ‘I think you need to beat your sister a few more times before you become my test dummy again, Blake.’

Madi lets out a squeak of laughter at the old joke, but Bellamy is unfazed, reaching down to haul his sister to her feet. ‘Just you wait, Princess,’ he smiles over his shoulder.

Clarke can’t hide from him her ecstasy that he’s smiling more often than not, these days.

True to her word, she doesn’t let him fight her until he can beat Octavia soundly, almost back to his original talent, if not using different techniques. Octavia is tasked to take over with Madi, teaching her the traditional Arcadian style of swordplay.

Clarke tackles Bellamy to the ground to start their first wrestle in months, and he groans as he pushes her off. ‘Oof. A little warning, next time?’

‘What, couldn’t see me coming?’

He chokes on his laughter, and Clarke uses the opportunity to try and pin him. But this he does see, or sense, coming, and they’re off. The dance of the fight is familiar and different all at once. His balance still isn’t perfect, and Clarke can often trick him if she tries hard enough.

But his Grace is stronger than it had been when they first met, and over the next few days, their fights become more and more evenly matched.

It makes her incandescently happy, to see both Madi and Bellamy improve in leaps and bounds. Even Octavia begrudgingly lets Clarke teach her a few pointers.

The mood of the whole cabin is up, and there’s more laughter than not over every meal.

Fighting makes Bellamy happy. Clarke knows it’s because he finally feels active and useful, and it distracts him from the other things. He’ll never read again, and sometimes Clarke catches him running his hand through her hair wistfully.

So if she needs to fight him every day for the rest of their lives, just to make him happy, she’ll do that for him.

And if sometimes the heat from their tussles leads into other things, then Clarke’s pretty sure they’re both better off for it.

*

Spring finally breaks the vice-like grip winter has had on Polaris. The cold gradually seeps away, the snow soaking into the ground, flowers pushing up through the frost, the river melting properly.

Madi is torn when she has to go back to Polaris, but she can’t deny that Bellamy’s feeling much better, and Octavia is willing to accompany her.

Clarke and Bellamy get a week of solitude. He doesn’t have to pretend so hard, and he seems to breathe easier. They swim in the water every afternoon, even though it’s still biting cold, and warm themselves up by the fire (and on the bed) afterwards.

But eventually Madi’s coronation creeps up to them, and they have to travel to Polis themselves. Clarke knows that the ring’s return probably symbolised Bellamy’s willingness to leave again, but she still breathes a sigh of relief when he starts packing without her even asking. Madi would have been devastated if he’d missed it.

The journey is much more comfortable than any of the travelling they’ve previously done together. Jaha sends them a carriage (his stepson is a prince, after all), and it lets them rest their legs when they get tired.

Because of course Bellamy wants to travel on foot at least a little, to take in the landscape with his Grace. He’s fascinated by the funniest things, gasping sometimes like a little kid when they pass rivers or villages or bridges. There’s sadness too though, when he knows Clarke has seen something beautiful, and he can’t experience it himself.

They roll into Polis in the carriage, with Bellamy tucked into Clarke’s side, because the city is a little overwhelming to him, all at once. It’s also weird for Clarke, that they’re finally in the place they’d originally set off to. The tower that loomed in the distance is now where they’re spending the night.

They’re given their own room with a fluffy, luxurious bed that they both flop onto with sighs. Clarke hasn’t experienced one since her night on Bellamy’s estate, and he been sleeping in a tiny cot for months.

Madi is busy with preparations, and Octavia is off doing her own thing, so they keep to their room mostly, Bellamy closing his eyes a lot, just to take it all in. He says it’s weird, to be high off the ground, and not be able to see it.

The coronation is scheduled for the afternoon the day after they arrive. Clarke readies herself that morning, lamenting over the too tight dress borrowed from an eager noble lady. Bellamy’s already dressed of course, lying back on the bed and grinning at the ceiling. Why he’s so happy all of a sudden, Clarke doesn’t know. She twists her hair up for the umpteenth time, making a face in the mirror.

‘What are you grinning so manically about?’

‘Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to smile, Princess,’ Bellamy says, but the little giggle that escapes his mouth undermines his mock-serious expression.

Clarke huffs, letting her hair down to start over yet again, when there’s a knock at the door.

Bellamy begins fully chuckling at that point, and Clarke throws him a look as she goes to answer the door.

‘Seriously, what—’

‘Hi, Lady Princess.’

Clarke opens the door to see Raven. And close behind her, Monty, and even his beau Harper. And Wells smiling alongside them, looking much fuller and healthier than he had when Clarke and Bellamy had left.

She leaps into Raven’s arms, hugging her hard, and only lets her go to do the same to Monty. ‘You didn’t say you were coming! No one even said you were invited,’ she babbles, blinking away stupid happy tears.

‘You’re one to talk about no communication,’ Raven retorts, shoving past them into the suite to greet Bellamy. ‘We didn’t hear from you for months, and suddenly Lincoln turns up with the wildest story we’ve ever heard.’

Clarke quickly hugs Harper and Wells, ushering them in, before going back into Raven and hugging her again. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get you involved. If Alie had come for you…’

‘It’s fine,’ Monty says warmly. ‘We understand.’

Bellamy hugs them all too, even Harper. ‘How was your journey?’

‘Cushy, compared to yours I hear,’ Wells says. ‘And what’s this I hear about you going through Sheidheda’s Pass?’

‘Not me,’ Bellamy puts his hands up. ‘It’s Sonraunheda over there.’

Clarke rolls her eyes. ‘Madi’s new name for me,’ she mutters, when Raven lifts an eyebow. But she shrugs helplessly. ‘There was no other choice. I had to get Madi away from Polaris.’

‘That’s insane,’ Harper says matter-of-factly. ‘Even for you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being impressed by that.’

‘Thanks,’ Clarke says. ‘But it was Madi too. She’s a strong kid. But enough about that. How’s everything back h…back in Sanctum?’

Raven smiles at her sadly, knowing what she’d been about to say.

‘It’s fine. Funny, actually. Russell and Simone didn’t realise how much they’d come to rely on the whole Wanheda schtick. Let’s just say we’ve been contacting the people done wrong by them. Especially the powerful ones, or the ones with lots of popular support. Who knows,’ Raven smirks, leaning on the wooden desk. ‘Maybe I won’t have to rule after all. There’s talk of an elected council.’

Clarke feels her heart rise. They’ve been continuing with Eden, letting it flourish. She’s glad that she left it in good hands.

She catches Monty, Harper and Raven up with the details Lincoln hadn’t known, after their pestering, and Bellamy catches up with his brother in the corner.

They have serious expressions, and when Wells hugs him at one point, she knows Bellamy’s probably telling him about his blindness.

But eventually they have to finish getting ready, and Clarke’s glad to let Raven and Harper deal with her hair.

The ceremony is being held outside, to Clarke’s relief, and not in the tiny dank throne room at the top of the tower. It’s nice weather, and the sun gleams off the crown resting on the pillow, about to be placed on Madi’s head.

Clarke can’t help but worry, even as she’s proud, watching Madi accept the leadership of her kingdom. It’ll be a tough job, sliding into queendom at such a young age, in a near destroyed kingdom barely recovering from a waking nightmare, with only Jaha’s advisors to help.

But Madi’s strong, and Clarke knows there’s no way the girl would have it any other way. She’s determined to fulfil the legacy of her sister and bring proper peace.

They dine outside too, long trestle tables groaning with food and drink. Clarke finally gets to sit next to Bellamy at a royal function, not across like she did at Sanctum. No eyes to distract her.

Instead, he side-tracks her in a different way. She has to whisper to him what the foods are, after all, and they make a game of whether he can smell what some dishes are before she recognises them.

Raven sits on her other side, bantering happily with Bellamy over whether sea algae is a delicacy (Bellamy yes, Raven no), and Clarke remembers she has to ask her something she doesn’t want to.

‘How’s Gabriel?’ she musters up the courage to ask when Raven’s taking a swig of wine.

Raven rolls her eyes. ‘He’s fine. Mopey, but fine.’

‘He’s thrown himself into Eden,’ Monty pipes up from next to Raven. ‘So at least there’s that.’

‘Don’t regret you didn’t marry him?’ Bellamy whispers to her, grinning slightly. She elbows him. Don’t rub it in if we see him, she scolds to him in her mind, and it’s a testament to how much he’s improved with his Grace that he doesn’t wince, even with all the people around. He just shrugs before shoving more potatoes into his mouth. ‘No promises.’

‘Russell wants to marry him off,’ Raven says. ‘Like Ryker.’

‘Maybe they could marry each other,’ Clarke muses, and Monty grins.

‘I’d love to see that.’

‘You know you can come back, if you want,’ Raven says near the end of dinner. ‘We can sneak you in. Honestly, fuck Russell and Simone. It was your mother’s home. Do you have any other plans?’

Clarke grasps Bellamy’s hand under the table, leaning back on him a little.

‘Bellamy and I will go back to the cabin for now. And we’ll take it from there.’

Raven lets a soft smile out, a rarity for her friend. ‘It’s nice to see you so happy. He’s good for you.’

‘You got that backwards,’ mumbles Bellamy, and Clarke shakes her head.

‘No, I think you’re both right.’

The rest of dinner passes in a haze of good food, laughter, and celebration.

Madi grins at her from the small dais where she’s dining with Jaha and Wells and her other advisors, and Clarke smiles helplessly back at her.

For once in her life, after living through her parents’ deaths, Josephine, being her aunt and uncle’s thug, Bellamy’s revelation, the chase after Alie, the escape _from _Ali…

She finally knows peace.

*

Clarke and Bellamy swim through the tunnel under the waterfall, sliding up, under, and into the cave. They rest on the gritty beach for a second, Clarke taking the time to appreciate what Bellamy sees every day – utter darkness.

‘Take my hand,’ Bellamy says, and she does so immediately, because she trusts him.

He pulls her to her feet, and leads her back into the darkness, where Clarke had thought there was more rough cave wall. But to her surprise, they keep walking, Bellamy helping her step carefully into the blackness, warning her of slippery rocks.

‘Put your hand here.’ Bellamy places it on a wall to the left of her – this one is smooth. Water probably wore it down over years and years and years.

He leads her down a slope, the wall to her left helping to keep her steady. Until Clarke hears what sounds like water lapping, and she can almost sense that there’s some sort of pool here.

‘What’s this?’

‘The water bends around,’ Bellamy says. ‘More space on the shore, and the water is about waist high.’

‘Still cold though,’ she teases.

‘Thought you didn’t feel the cold,’ she hears the smile in his voice.

‘Oh shut up,’ she replies, and they sit down on the sand. If Clarke stretches her legs out, she can feel the water on her toes, but there’s much more room than the other little beach.

She leans into Bellamy. She can’t see him, but she can feel his heat radiating next to her. The only source of warmth in the cool cave.

‘Seems I’m always being your heater.’

‘Always have been, always will be. You’re like a damn furnace.’

He noses into her neck, planting a kiss right below her jaw. ‘Lighting you up inside?’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Sure.’

Bellamy’s hand caresses her cheek, turning it until she feels his lips touch hers, just lightly at first. She can’t see a thing. Of course, neither can he.

‘Do you trust me?’ He murmurs.

She doesn’t even have to say yes. Clarke kisses him back until the light, feathery touches turn deep and sensual. She hears him scoot back, and he tugs her arm, leading her until she’s sitting between his legs, back nestled into his chest.

He kisses down her neck, along her shoulder, pulling down the strap of her shirt. She arches her neck back, wishing she could kiss him in the same way, but he hums.

‘Let me take care of you, Princess.’

Clarke revels in the touch of his hands. He slides one down her side, dusting it up to her breast, and she squirms until he helps her with getting her top fully off.

Bellamy doesn’t let up for a while, obviously enjoying the way his touch is sending her crazy, chuckling every time her thoughts are urging him to hurry up. It’s an age before he helps her slide her pants down and off her legs, shucking them off to the side.

He hoists her up a little, onto his lap so she doesn’t have to sit in the sand, but he spreads her legs, and Clarke aches for his fingers to reach there, one arm hooked back around his neck just to keep her anchored.

Finally, his hand slides down to her centre, spreading her apart. She twists her head so he can swallow her moan with a kiss, but now that he’s got her worked up, he doesn’t let her down. He rubs up and down, slowly at first, but quicker and quicker until her legs are shaking, tingles shooting up her spine. He dips his fingers into her, drawing out her pleasure until she’s cresting and crying out, writhing against him.

‘Good, Clarke?’

‘Mmhmm,’ she moans, letting out a shuddering breath. Not being able to see him just made every little touch that much more sensitive. Was this what it was like for him?

‘Not really,’ he says, ‘because my Grace senses it too. And I’d rather be able to see you. But it’s still pretty fucking good.’ He presses a kiss to her cheek and Clarke shifts in his lap.

‘Bell,’ she says.

‘Mm?’

She thinks to him what she wants, and he groans in answer, sliding his hands up her sides again, his warm breath on her neck.

‘Whatever you want, Princess.’

Clarke helps him slide his own trousers down just a little bit, rubbing her ass up against the sign of his arousal, and lifting herself up so he can get underneath her. She sighs when she sinks down on him, feeling him against her walls and grinning a little into the darkness when he helps her to bounce up and down.

They haven’t tried this position before, but Clarke thinks it might become a favourite, the different angle hitting a spot inside her in a new way, prompting little gasps to escape from her mouth as she increases the pace yet again.

But she can’t quite keep up with the constant motion, and Bellamy’s hands creep up to her shoulders, his thrusting slowing a little.

‘Trust me,’ he whispers, and she relaxes into him, allowing him to move her. It’s not like her limbs are altogether following her instructions anyway.

He bends her forward until she’s on her hands and knees, Bellamy kneeling behind her and oh. _Oh_. That’s _good. _More than good. Incredible.

Bellamy’s firm, safe hands are wrapped around her waist and he pounds into her, deep and fast, until she keens, and then one hand reaches down to rub at her centre again and she almost collapses onto her jelly arms when she comes, only Bellamy’s arms keeping her up.

‘Oh gods,’ she breathes, and she can’t stand not kissing him anymore. He slides out and she turns around to grab where she thinks his face must be.

He chuckles, grabbing her hands to put them around his neck.

‘Here.’

He settles back down, his back against the cave wall, and lets her knees surround him until she feels him up against her, sliding up within her folds.

Clarke can feel his nose then, touching her nose, and she kisses him as he pushes back up into her. They’re as close to each other as they possibly can be now, her bare breasts against his chest, her arms pressing into his neck, kissing so slow and languid that they’re basically just breathing each other’s air.

They draw it out, moving up and down in perfect, unhurried rhythm. This is what love-making is, she can’t help but think to him, because she couldn’t love him more in this single moment. His skin up against her, feeling every single part of him and he in return, and it doesn’t matter that they can’t see each other, because they know each other and that’s all that matters. He bites into the next kiss, fingers coming up to squeeze at her breasts and of course he feels the same. They’re on the same page.

It lasts a lot longer, with their slow pace, and it’s only when she’s nearing the peak, and can tell he is too, that they speed up just in time to crest over it together, her walls squeezing him and his hands running frantically through her hair.

Clarke takes a bit to catch her breath, unwilling to move away from where she can feel his lips against her cheek.

‘I love you,’ she whispers, and his smile grows against her skin.

‘I love you, too.’

They rest for bit on the sand, just relaxing against each other, before Bellamy drags her into the water again, because he says he can sense every bit of sand that’s all over them.

She giggles as he splashes her, then huffs because he can aim at her all he likes but she can’t see a thing.

Eventually, he leads her up to a small rock outcrop, free of sand, where their feet drift in the water and they lean against each other. Clarke doesn’t think she’ll ever get sick of his touch.

‘Hey, Bellamy?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you trust the people Madi has around her?’

He’s silent for a second, thinking.

‘Thelonious chose the best people for the job. And if she has any trouble, she knows who she can write to.’

She rests a head on his shoulder, sighing when she feels his hand come up to play with the ends of her hair.

‘I hope she’ll be okay. I know she still has nightmares about Luna’s death and Sheidheda’s Pass. I hate that I put her through that.’

Bellamy kisses her cheek. ‘You saved her Clarke. Yes, she’ll have nightmares, but she also has people to help her through it all. It’s not going to be easy,’ he admits. ‘But Alie’s gone for good, and it’s only going to improve from here.’

‘Do you think she was crazy?’

He hums. ‘I don’t know. I think she was dedicated to her vision of things and couldn’t see past that. I don’t think she had any empathy for true suffering – true pain. But the spell is wearing off, and Madi’s sensible and the furthest thing from crazy. She’ll be a great leader one day.’

Clarke sighs. ‘I wish she didn’t have to be.’

‘Yeah, well. That’s royalty for you.’ There’s a pause. ‘You know she wonders about me and my Grace. She doesn’t believe it’s just for fighting.’

Clarke snorts. ‘Well we didn’t hide it very well when we were running from Alie.’

‘That’s true. But she wonders if I’m a mindreader, yet still trusts me.’

‘Not like me?’ Clarke teases.

‘I think you had a pretty good reason for that, Princess. I’m still thankful you looked past it.’

She shakes her head. ‘You don’t need to thank me. It’s time I moved on from that time in my life. From Josephine, from Gabriel, from all that shit. And you know how relieved I am not to be an actual princess anymore.’

Bellamy smiles into her hair. ‘Wells yelled at me for not marrying you before I set him straight. And Octavia.’

Clarke raises her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t think she liked me.’

‘Not entirely, but she respects you.’ He pokes her. ‘And she wants to see me married, as does Wells. But he knows not to push it.’

‘I knew I liked him,’ Clarke grins.

‘I suppose I should be comforted that I know you don’t want to be a princess then,’ he jokes, and Clarke rolls her eyes.

‘You know you’re the only prince for me,’ she kisses him, and while he kisses back for a second, he makes a face.

‘It’s way too weird when you call me that. It’ll be bad enough when I go back to all that royal nonsense.’ He tugs on a strand of her hair. ‘Are you sure you want to come back to Arcadia with me? I know you’ve just been there.’

‘Where else would I be going?’

‘I know you want your freedom still.’

‘And I have it,’ she assures him. ‘It just so happens I choose to be with you. I can go to Sanctum later in the year.’

Bellamy shifts. ‘Sanctum? For Eden?’

‘Well, yes. But I do need to face Russell and Simone again.’

‘Again? Haven’t you defied them enough already?’

Clarke shakes her head. ‘I won’t be an exile from my place of birth. Not for them. Raven and Monty are there, and they’re family.’

He noses into her shoulder. ‘Not home?’

She can’t see his face, but she kisses some part of it. ‘No.’

He knows what she means. Home isn’t a place for her anymore.

Bellamy stretches, letting out a large sigh. But it’s not melancholy anymore. It’s relaxed, happy.

‘You know I wish you could see this cave.’

‘Oh?’

‘Mm.’ He wraps his arms around her, holds her close, and describes the form of it to her, in the only way Bellamy can, like a story.

And with Clarke interrupting every so often, to argue with him for the sake of it, and him shushing her to add bits that she just _knows _he’s exaggerating, they build up a picture. It’s just for them, this cave.

They create their own version of its beauty together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i'm cheesy, so what? this is the type of ending I want for bellarke, sue me.  
Please leave kudos or comments if you liked it or have anything to say, I truly treasure every single thought. Thanks for reading, especially with my monster chapters, y'all are champions.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [tumblr](http://millipop.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/biakebell)


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